


The Guardian

by WanderingAlice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Competition, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2270046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of New York has a tradition that says the one in line to become the next ruler must have a peerless warrior to protect him or her. For Prince James “Bucky” Barnes, the contest for his guard is about to begin, but he is still holding out hope for one man to arrive- a man everyone says is dead. The man he loves with all his heart.</p>
<p>Enter Nomad, a competitor who will not reveal his face to anyone. This mysterious man proves his worth in every challenge thrown at him, and manages to impress everyone watching. What's strange is that he seems to know Bucky, even though the prince could swear they have never met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot deal, something short inspired by a few of my favorite childhood books. But then... plot happened, and the first part hit 5,000 words, and I wasn't anywhere near done. So I decided to make it a short chapter-fic instead. I'll post the rest of it over the next few weeks, while I do more prelim work for my next larger story.
> 
> This was inspired by a lot of my favorite childhood books, with bits and pieces of plot taken from those, some fairy-tales, a few daydreams, and a tv show or two. Basically, it's a mish-mash of all the stuff floating around in my head. I guess that's what I get for choosing a fantasy story for my NaNoWriMo book. I should count myself lucky none of my other fandoms worked their way into this plot.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to let me know what you think!

The kingdom of New York has a long and storied history, many heroes and villains, kings and princesses, and many more people just trying to get by. Bucky _could_ tell you all about it. He’d just rather not. He’d rather tell you one story in particular, the story of how his heart was won, and then lost, and then won again. The story of Steve Rogers.

It all started on clear summer day, in the fields just outside the castle town. Bucky had been ten years old, going out with his father for the first time to inspect the peasant’s fields. He’d gotten bored somewhere along the second patch of dirt and plants, and wandered off. His pa was too busy being King George to notice within the next hour or two, which left the young prince plenty of time to get into trouble. He ducked down a row of corn in someone’s field, and was off. His foremost hope was to find someone making pie, and charm them out of a slice. Charming people out of things was one of his best talents.

Three fields away, he was hopelessly lost. Somehow, he’d ended up in the middle of a sea of corn. It was all corn, corn, corn, for as far as he could see. It wasn’t even edible corn. He’d tried. (Bucky hadn’t yet learned the difference between the boiled and buttered corn the cooks served at dinner, and the uncooked ears in the field.) He looked around, trying to see over the stalks- they hadn’t yet reached their full growth, but were still plenty tall enough to reach over the head of a ten year old boy. All he could see close by was a large hill, one with a sturdy looking tree on it. There was an idea! He could climb the tree, and then he’d be able to see the town, and from there it would be easy to get someplace exciting. He headed for the hill.

As Bucky neared the base of mound, he heard a soft noise. He paused, listening, trying to figure out what it was. It came again. It sounded… it sounded like someone coughing, without enough air to make the proper sound. Bucky slipped out of the corn field, and spotted a boy, maybe a little older than him, hunched over on the ground. The sound was coming from him.,

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Bucky ran over. He couldn’t help noticing that the boy was covered in bruises, some the fading blue-yellow of old injuries, some just now starting to show bright purple against his pale skin. When he looked up at Bucky, the prince could see that one eye was swelling shut, working it’s way up to one hell of a shiner. The kid flinched away as Bucky reached out to him, the almost-coughing sound changing to a rough gasp.

“Hey, it’s okay, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear!” To prove it, Bucky put both hands up in the air, showing him they were empty. The kid watched, still making that gasping sound. And Bucky realized what it was, why he couldn’t get out a proper cough. He was having trouble breathing.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, sitting down next to the kid. “It’s okay. You need to calm down, kid.” He didn’t know much about getting someone to breathe right, but he figured the first step was to get the kid to calm down. He looked pretty panicked, and that couldn’t possibly be helping things. Bucky reached out and hesitatingly put a hand on the kid’s back, rubbing up and down the way his nursemaids sometimes did when he was sick. It always made him feel better, and as he watched, it seemed that it made the kid feel better too. He stopped making the not-cough, and even the gasping slowed, breaths becoming longer with each labored inhale. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Bucky began talking to him.

“I was out in the fields with my Pa today. That’s why I’m here. I got bored, so I ran off, but then I got lost. There was corn everywhere! I couldn’t find the town. But then I saw this hill. And after I saw the hill, I figured I could climb the tree and see where town is. But then I heard you, and now I’m here. But I don’t mind, I was only trying to get to town to find something interesting to do, because looking at fields all day is boring. Guardswoman Terah ain’t gonna be happy I ran off, but I never promised not to. I just promised I’d go and try to be good. Not my fault it was so boring. I thought maybe I’d go to town and get some pie. Apple’s my favorite, but the cooks don’t make it so much on account ‘a Pa liking cherry best. Ma doesn’t care which one it is, she’s too busy guarding Pa to pay attention to things like pie. When I get my warrior, I hope she or he likes pie. Say, you like it, don’t ya kid? What’s your name anyway?”

At this point, the other boy had calmed down. Bucky had been talking on and off for nearly five minutes now, and while he had been talking the kid had managed to pull something out of his pocket to breathe in, probably some sort of medicine. He was now watching Bucky with a slight smile, breath coming easier with every inhalation.

“I’m Steve,” he said in a slightly breathless voice. “Steven Rogers.”

Bucky grinned, and asked the all-important question in his ten-year-old mind. “Well, good to meet ya, Steve. Say, do you like pie?”

Steve blinked at the prince, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Then let’s go get some!” Bucky grabbed for Steve’s hand, and led him down the hill, or, well tried to. The kid stood firm, at least until Bucky’s strength knocked him off his feet. He stumbled, regaining his balance in time to see Bucky turn to look at him.

“What?” the prince asked.

“What’s your name?” the kid wanted to know. Bucky was flabbergasted. He’d never met _anybody_ who didn’t instantly know his name. He just thought everybody would recognize him as the prince. Everyone in the _castle_ did, anyway.

“You don’t know?” he asked in confusion.

Steve shook his head. “How ‘m I supposed to know? I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

“But… I’m the prince!” Bucky protested. Everybody was supposed to know he was the prince!

“Oh!” Steve’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back, sketching a shaky little bow. “I- ah, I’m sorry your highness.”

Bucky frowned at him. “My friends call me Bucky. Come on.” And with that, Bucky took Steve’s hand once more and pulled him down the hill, in the direction of where he’d seen the town. The prince was too intent on getting his pie to notice the expressions that played across his new friend’s face- first confusion, then amusement, then finally acceptance. In the years that followed, he would tell Bucky that he half expected him to be joking about being the prince, right up until the guards came looking for him.

Once in town (Steve took over leading them before Bucky could get lost, _again_ ) they made their way to the marketplace, where Steve pointed out some things of interest, including his mom’s herbalist shop- she was the town healer. Then he pulled Bucky over to a young woman in the market who was selling pies. Most of her wares were savory pies, meat and vegetables, but on a shelf set apart from the rest, she had several trays of fruit pies. She greeted the boys with a smile.

“Hi there, Steve,” she said. “What brings you here today? Need a place to hide from Hodges again?”

“Nope,” Steve shook his head. “I think he’s done with me for the day. My friend here wants some apple pie. He says he’s the prince.”

“Well now,” the woman looked Bucky over with a kind eye. “You just might be at that, though I expect the prince would have guards with him when he’s down here with us regular folk.”

“I ran away, ma’am,” Bucky told her. “I got bored looking at all the corn.”

She giggled, a pleasant sound. “Well alright then, your highness. Apple pie, you said?” The woman moved over to the fruit pie shelf, and bent down, picking up two of the smallish pastries.

“Yes’m,” Steve told her. “How much?”

“For you, Stevie, they’re free,” she said, handing Bucky one pie, Steve the other. “You just come back here to help out next festival, okay? You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“Gee, thanks!” Steve grinned at her. Bucky nodded, mouth too full of pie to get the words out. It was warm, as if it had just recently come out of the oven, and perfectly spiced with cinnamon and a few other spices Bucky couldn’t name. It was the best pie he’d ever had, and he said so, just as soon as he’d swallowed. The woman laughed and thanked him, and then the boys wandered off.

Steve steered Bucky around the busiest area of the market, leading him down a small alley and into a little courtyard where they could eat their pies in peace. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, too busy eating their pies to really talk. They’d spoken a bit on the way in, but it was once they’d licked the last of the juices from their fingers that Bucky really began to learn about Steve.

Steve was an only child, the first son of immigrant parents. They’d planned on having more children, but Steve’s father had gone to fight in the war. He’d made it through, and was marching home with the victorious army when an enemy prisoner escaped. The knight had killed anyone that got in his way, even the unarmed peasant soldier who had only been out of his tent because he needed to use the privy. The news had been delivered to Sarah Rogers by her husband’s best friend, who had been the one on guard that night. He had shot the knight as he escaped, taking revenge for his friend’s murder.

But revenge hadn’t done much to help the grieving widow take care of her baby son. But she had herbalist and midwife training, and went to work for the town’s physician as an assistant. Over the next few years, she’d gained popularity with the people as well as a great deal of skill, and when the old man died, she became the next physician. Sarah Rogers was well respected in Brooklyn, and she made sure her son was brought up right. Steve and his mom were close- a relationship Bucky envied. His own mother was far too busy for that, though he knew she loved both he and his little sister dearly. It was just, as the Guardian of the King, she had a lot to do.

In return, Bucky told Steve a little about his family. His father, George, was a good man. A kind man. But he had a hard streak in him, as many kings did. He had to make the tough decisions for the kingdom, even when there was no good choice. He was raising Bucky to take his place, to have that same hard streak in him, so that when the time came, and he had to decide between the good of the few and the good of the many, he could make that choice and live with himself. Bucky could already see it would be a struggle. Some nights, his father would come to their private rooms with his face drawn and tired, and on those nights, no matter how much Bucky and Becka pleaded, he would not play with them.

His mother, Winnie, was his Guardian. That was a traditional post, reserved the one person who would always be beside the king or queen, and defend him or her with their life. The Guardian had to be the best warrior in the kingdom, and no one could doubt that about Winnie. She had proven herself time and time again, defending George’s life. She was a good partner for the king, bringing a perfect balance to his life. As Guardian of the King, the woman had little time for her children, but she devoted whatever time she did have to just being with them. Sometimes she taught Bucky and his sister combat skills, sometimes battle strategies, sometimes even poetry. Bucky thought the world of her. He wanted to grow up to be just like her some day. She was the one that taught him how to charm people. There was a legend among the common folk that Steve shared with Bucky that day- a legend that said Guardian Winnie’s smile could make the devil agree to give up ownership of hell. In later years, it would be said that Bucky had inherited that smile.

The other member of Bucky’s family was his sister, Rebecka. Becka. A year younger than Bucky, she took after their father- a good and kind girl, who preferred books to weapons, but could still use a sword with skill when she had to. She was probably up in the castle right then, digging around in the library for some old tome the Master Librarian had told her about. Bucky’s relationship with her was fairly typical of all young boys with sisters- they fought like cats and dogs, but came together whenever they really needed to.

Steve listened, and nodded in all the right places. He was a good listener, and Bucky liked that. Sometime during his story, the boy took out a pad of paper (obviously homemade, by the looks of it,) and a piece of charcoal. As they sat and talked, Steve drew, and slowly the picture began to take on a life of it’s own. Bucky couldn’t see much of it, from where he was sitting, but what he could see looked frankly amazing.

They had to stop talking twice, while Steve had coughing fits. Bucky learned that Steve got sick a lot, and was just recovering from a cold- or maybe coming down with a new one. It was good for him that his mother was the town doctor- she always knew just what to do, and she taught a little of that to Steve. Steve didn’t want to be a doctor though, he wanted to be a soldier. Or, if he could, a guardsman- the non-noble ranks of warriors that protected the castle and its inhabitants. Bucky didn’t have the heart to point out that, with his health, that probably wasn’t ever going to happen.

A good long while later, Steve learned that Bucky hadn’t ever seen the inside of the market, the place where most of the buying and selling took place. He put down his charcoal and insisted they go there at once. It was, he said, an experience that couldn’t be missed. Bucky had never been in town on his own before. It was very different, walking around with Steve, without a ring of guards between him and the people. And there were _so many_ people. Bucky had never seen that many people all crammed into one place, except at tourneys and the occasional ball. Everyone was shouting over each other to be heard, yelling in a tangle of different languages. Steve seemed to know them all. He conversed in French with a woman selling bread, traded greetings with a man speaking Spanish at a vegetable stall, and even shouted a few words in a language Bucky didn’t know to a boy running by with a message in his hands. Everyone they talked to knew Steve’s name, and everyone seemed to like him. The women exclaimed over his new bruises, and some gave him and Bucky sweets or something to drink. The men talked frankly with Steve about their businesses, and asked him to give their greetings to his mother. It was fun, Bucky thought, seeing this side of life. It kept right on being fun, up until the other boys stepped out of a little alleyway and blocked their path.

There was a group of them, perhaps five, though Bucky couldn’t see if there were more hidden around somewhere. They ignored Bucky, instead focusing on Steve with a light in their eyes that the prince did not like. He wished he had his dagger, or even his practice sword- the edges were blunt, but it could still do some damage. But he didn’t have his weapons on him. If it came down to a fight, which he thought it would, it would be hand to hand.

“Hey brainless!” the leader of the group exclaimed. “Looks like you found a friend. Too bad for him, he ain’t got no more brains than you. If he’d had, he would’a split by now.”

“Oh, I think you’re the one without a brain,” Bucky told him with a smile. “Or else you’d realize that we’re in a public place, and anything you do to us will be seen by everybody around here.”

“Who told you you could talk?” another kid said, this one looked almost fifteen, big and brawny but not very bright. Bucky’s Ma would have talked circles around him, getting him so confused he didn’t know which end was up. Bucky just kept on grinning.

“I did. You all don’t have authority over me. In fact, I’m the one with the power over you.” He wasn’t going to use his position to win this fight, Ma had told him that was as honorable as kicking an unarmed man, but it was a pretty threat nonetheless.

“Lookit that,” another bully spoke up, laughing. “The little noble thinks he’s better’n us. What are you boy? Some low-rank duke’s son? Second son, probably, since nobody seems to care you’re out here on your own. Bet you can’t even fight, huh?”

“Stop it,” the fourth member of the little group said, looking scared. “What if he _is_ somebody important?”

“Then what? They stick us in the stocks? They ain’t gonna hurt us, we’re kids,” the leader scoffed. “You want to run, you go right ahead. Four of us are enough to take on these two.

Steve stepped up beside Bucky, skinny hands balled into fists. “Yeah, the four of you are enough to beat on little kids, but you’d never pick a fair fight. Too afraid you might lose.”

“Rargh!” the leader of the gang gave an inarticulate yell of rage, and lunged for Steve, shoving him bodily into the small alleyway they had come from.The others followed, ignoring Bucky. That was a mistake. He followed, tackling the first boy from behind and throwing him out of the alley, where he landed, hitting his head with a thump. Bucky didn’t look back, already engaging the next boy, who had turned at his fellow’s scream and was now running at him. Bucky ducked the swinging fists, coming up inside his guard and shoving him against the wall. He got a good punch into the kid’s stomach, and turned to block a blow from the figure behind him- alerted by his shadow to the impending attack. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve holding his own with the leader of the bullies, at least until that boy picked him up off the ground and threw him like a rag-doll. Steve slammed into the wall, and Bucky felt sure he heard his bones breaking. He yelled his anger, putting down his opponent with a swift kick to the groin (a low blow, to be sure, but any tactic should be utilized when you were outnumbered, Ma said,) and ran towards him.

The bully turned, laughing, to meet Bucky’s attack, blocking his punch almost effortlessly. He landed a good blow on Bucky’s face, which was sure to develop into a nice black eye. Bucky clocked him in the jaw, hard enough to make him dizzy, he hoped. The fell on his ass, stunned, and his eyes gave away the attack behind Bucky. He turned, engaging the big fifteen-year-old for a few frenzied seconds before the bigger kid realized his greater size and strength weren’t going to win him this battle without effort. Then he broke and ran. Bucky watched him go for a second too long, and heard a THWACK! of something hard impacting something soft. He turned to see Steve standing with a wooden box lid in his hands, the bully sprawled out between them, holding a brick. He’d been going to brain Bucky from behind.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky said, a little breathlessly, and became aware of the shouts and whistles coming from the marketplace.

“No problem,” Steve panted, wiping at his lip, where a slow drip of blood was starting to form. “Thank _you_ for coming to help. I could’a taken them, though.”

Bucky blinked at him, amused by the stark overconfidence the kid showed. He would have been pounded flat, without Bucky there to save his hide. Just then, the bully on the ground started to revive. He groaned, then jumped up, fists at the ready. Before Steve or Bucky had to do anything though, the whistle blowing came close, and Bucky’s guards trooped into the little alley.

“Your Highness,” Guardswoman Terah said, relief and disapproval clear in her voice. “We’ve been looking all over for you. Your father is worried.”

“Highness?” the bully whispered. “Fuck.” Before anyone could catch him, he turned tail and fled.

“Well, Ma always says bullies ain’t brave,” Bucky observed, watching him dash around the corner. Then he turned back to the guardswoman. “Sorry, Terah. I got bored.”

“So you came to town looking to get into trouble, hmm?” Terah put her hands on her hips, frowning down at him.

“Please, ma’am,” Steve broke in, “it was my fault. Bucky was just trying to help.”

“Hmm.” The guardswoman gave Steve a long, hard look. “You’re the Rogers boy, aren’t you?”

“Yes’m,” Steve ducked his head, uncomfortable under that steely gaze. Bucky knew how he felt. Terah could be a right terror when she put her mind to it. She was the strictest of his guardians, but also the best. When Ma was too busy, Terah took over Bucky’s training. When she gave _him_ that look, Bucky wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

“I see. And these boys are the ones that have been causing trouble all over town for a few months now?”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve said again. “They’ve been hurting the little kids too. I- I tried to stop ‘em, but…”

Guardswoman Terah nodded. “I see. Yes, well. We have four of them in custody now. We’ll find the fifth and be sure to give them an appropriate punishment.”

Bucky grinned. He could just see them put on privy cleaning duty or something for the next few months. His grin fell with the guardswoman’s next words.

“Now we must decide what to do with you two. Our young prince ran off, and it seems you have aided him, Mr. Rogers. It would appear that we must find an appropriate punishment for the both of you as well.” She looked them over, and now that icy gaze fell on Bucky too. He shrank back against Steve, but his voice was strong when he spoke.

“Don’t punish Steve, Guardswoman. I made him help me.”

Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “Did not. Ma’am, I accept my responsibility.”

The guardswoman’s gaze softened then, and she smiled. “Then I believe I have the appropriate punishment for you. Bucky, you are to have extra combat lessons from the hour after dawn until the eight o’clock bell. Mr. Rogers, your punishment will be to join him. I trust you know how to get to the castle?”

Bucky could hardly believe his luck. Extra combat lessons? That was something he actually _liked_. And Steve got to have them with him! Maybe they could teach him more about defending himself. That would be brilliant! He had to work hard to keep the grin from his face.

“Now, boys, I’m going to go talk some of the folks around here. I’m gonna trust you to stay right here and not run off again, alright Highness?” Guardswoman Terah turned and left them, then, and Bucky turned to Steve, who was looking strangely crestfallen.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Buck,” he said.

“Sorry? What the heck for?” Bucky asked him, confused.

Steve shrugged and kicked at a pebble on the ground, not meeting Bucky’s eyes.“I got you in trouble, and now you’re bein’ punished for it.”

“Punished? Nah,” Bucky couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out after his words. “Nah that ain’t punishment. Guardswoman Terah’s giving me the extra lessons I’d been asking for, and you get some too! Maybe she’ll teach you how to avoid getting beat up by those jerks, even though you’re so scrawny.”

Steve glared at him for that last comment. “You’re a jerk, you know that, right?” he asked.

Bucky laughed. “And you’re a real punk, Stevie. A teal punk.”

After that, Steve and Bucky became almost attached at the hip. Bucky started dragging him to _all_ his lessons, getting him into the same combat classes, and even the boring ‘history of America’ classes. Steve learned how to be a fighter, at least, as well as his small, sickly body could be. When he wasn’t sick, or helping his mother in her shop, he was up at the castle. Unless, of course, Bucky came down to the town to see him.

In town they wandered around the market, sometimes getting into trouble with the other boys (well, mostly Steve getting into trouble, and Bucky pulling him out of it,) sometimes pulling pranks (well, mostly Bucky pulling pranks, and Steve bailing him out when it went wrong,) and sometimes just talking to the people. With Steve, Bucky got to know his country in a way his father never had. The people knew he was with them, and they loved him for it. Because of Steve, because Bucky wanted to explore his life with the common people, he knew things like how to milk a cow, or bargain in the market. He learned how to gut a fish, spin yarn, and tell which plants could be used for healing. It was a whole different life, living outside of the castle. And because he knew that, because of Steve, Bucky would make a much better king. And he knew who he wanted to rule by his side. He wanted Steve. He always took it for granted that that was what Steve wanted too.

For the next six years, things fell into a pattern. Bucky could have been perfectly happy if things had gone on that way forever. But life likes to throw curve balls at you when you least expect it. And in the summer of Bucky’s sixteenth year, one came in the form of disease. Steve’s mom got sick, and she died, leaving Steve alone. Bucky was there for him through it all, and when she was gone he gave Steve a place as the assistant to the king’s physician. He tried for the palace guard, many times, but even the lessons he’d taken with Bucky weren’t enough to make up for his small, sickly body. It was a bitter disappointment for both of them, because if Steve couldn’t even be a Guard, there was just no way he could become Bucky’s Guardian.

“Come on, Steve, it ain’t that bad,” Bucky tried to tell him, after the fourth time he’d tried - and failed- to get into the Guard. Steve shook his head.

“No, Buck, it is. If I can’t even do this, what am I good for?” He was angry with himself, frustrated at his lack of strength.

“Lots of things,” Bucky said. “You learned healing from your mom, you can paint and draw better than the official court portrait artist, you’re-”

“None of that matters!” Steve cut him off before he could go on to list all the things Steve was good at. “None of it. This, protecting you, that’s what’s important.”

“Hey, now, there are a million people who can protect me, Steve-o. _And_ I can protect myself.” Bucky unsheathed his sword in a practiced motion, giving it a few swings to emphasize his point. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not in the Guard, you’ll always be my best guy.”

Steve stopped at that, and looked at Bucky. Really _looked_ at him, as if those sky-blue eyes could see right into his heart.

“Best guy?” he asked, and Bucky cursed himself. It was a slip of the tongue, and he couldn’t claim he just meant best friend, not with the _way_ he’d said it. Fuck. He hadn’t planned on letting that out, not until he knew if Steve felt the same way. He looked down and shrugged.

“Well, yeah.” He wasn’t going to ask how Steve felt. He was the prince, not some needy court lady.

“Bucky,” Steve reached out, grasping both his shoulders and turning Bucky to face him. Then a gentle hand tipped his chin up just a little, so he was looking right down into Steve’s eyes. “You mean it?”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, punk. I mean it.”

Steve’s face split into a grin. “Good,” he said. “I was just about out of reasons to stop myself from telling you how I feel.”

The prince couldn’t help the grin that took over his own face. “Well how about that?” he said, and laughed. “We sure are a pair, huh?”

“Yep,” Steve agreed, sliding himself under Bucky arm so that it was draped across his shoulders. His own arm he wrapped around Bucky’s back. “I think we knew that that first day, when we ended up in that fight in the market.”

“Which was your fault, by the way,” Bucky said, as he always did. Steve shoved into him, knocking him a bit off balance.

“Was not,” he argued, and just like that they were back to bickering like brothers. Or like long-time lovers.

The next day, Bucky came down to Steve’s room to find his friend all packed. He froze in the doorway and stared.

“Steve?” he asked, trying not to let the hurt and surprise creep into his voice. “Going somewhere?”

Steve looked up from where he was shoving his last shirt into his pack and nodded. “Hey Buck. I was just about to come and find you.”

“You- where are you going?” the prince demanded. “I thought…” He didn’t complete the sentence. Maybe his assumptions about their talk yesterday had been false. Maybe Steve _didn’t_ love him in the same way.

“I…” Steve sighed, then met Bucky’s eyes with a determined stare. “I’m going to train. I need to be stronger, Bucky. And I can’t do that here. I’m gonna find some way to get better. There’s rumors of a guy in Washington, who’s trying something new. Maybe he can help me.”

“But, yesterday,” Bucky couldn’t help the way the whine stole into his words. He didn’t want Steve to leave. “You said… Aw, hell, was I reading things wrong? Is that why you’re leaving?”

“No! No way!” Steve’s eyes went wide and he reached across the small room to grab Bucky’s arms. “That’s not- you didn’t read me wrong. I meant what I said. That’s why I have to go.”

Bucky shook his head, confused. “That doesn’t make sense, Steve. If you and me, if we’re…” he swallowed and said it, because it had to be said. “If we’re in love, ain’t that the best reason to stick around?”

Steve’s eyes were gentle and kind as he met Bucky’s gaze. “You’re the prince, Buck,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“So what?” Bucky demanded. “That don’t matter. You and me, that’s what matters.”

“No, Buck. Don’t you see? I- I love you. I want to be with you. Forever.” Steve’s words rocked Bucky to the core. Forever? He hadn’t thought… but it was true. He’d been ‘in love’ before, a few times, and none of those had felt the way this did. Like he couldn’t stop loving Steve if he tried.

“Forever. Yeah,” he smiled at Steve. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Steve grinned at him, a little sadly. “Then I have to go. Because you’re the prince, and, for all I’m your best friend, I’m still just a commoner.”

“Just a-!” Bucky’s tirade was cut off with a sharp gesture from Steve.

“Just a commoner,” Steve repeated. “I’ve no land or title, nothing I can bring to the kingdom as your consort. The _only_ way your nobles will let us marry is if I become your Guardian. And I want to. I want to be able to keep you safe, more than anything else. So I have to learn to be strong, so I can pass those tests. ‘Cause then, no one can make me leave you, not ever.”

“Oh.” Bucky understood. He hated it, but he understood. Everything in him wanted to argue this, to force Steve to stay, to say they’d find a way to be together, no matter what. But he was the prince, and he knew his duty. On his own, he wouldn’t care. But he wanted to be the kind of man Steve thought he was, and that sort of man did his duty and looked after the kingdom first, self second.

Fuck it. In this, his duty didn’t matter as much as Steve. “And what if you get killed out there? It’s not safe like it is here, there’s bandits, and monsters, and who knows what else! _And_ there’s rumors that all of America is about to be dragged into that war going on in the other continent. My father is meeting with the other rulers next month, to talk it over. I- you can’t go out there, Steve.”

Steve glared at Bucky then, a fire blazing in his eyes. “All the more reason for me to try. If others are going to fight and die against that madman, I’ve got no right to do any less. I’m going to do this, Bucky. You can’t stop me.”

“ _I don’t want to lose you!_ ” Bucky shouted, then stopped, surprised by his own outburst.

Steve hugged him tight. “You won’t. I promise. I have to do this, Buck.”

“You’ll come back?” Bucky asked, begging now and not caring.

“If you don’t choose anyone to be your Guardian until then,” Steve promised.

“Deal,” Bucky said, and they shook on it.

The prince escorted Steve to the edge of the town, where they said their goodbyes. It wrenched his heart, seeing Steve standing there, his pack bigger than he was, all alone against the world.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as the road ran on behind him. Bucky was suddenly reminded of a song he and Steve had read about in a book some years before. _The road goes ever on and on/Down from the door where it began/Now far ahead the rad has gone/and I must follow if I can_. Far ahead indeed, far too far for Bucky’s liking, and he couldn’t know when Steve would return again.

“You’re sure?” he asked, for a final time. Steve nodded.

“I am.”

“Then… I guess this is goodbye.” Bucky slipped a ring from his fingers, the bright blue stone of the royal family, and pressed it into Steve’s hands. “Take it. For luck.”

Steve nodded, putting it on his own hand. Later, when he made camp that night, he’d put it on a cord around his neck, where it would hang close to his heart.

“Goodbye, Buck,” he said, blinking back tears. “Don’t chose a Guardian ‘till I get back!”

“Yes Sir!” Bucky agreed. “Just make sure you come back. Punk.” He pulled Steve into a rough hug.

“Jerk,” Steve called him, smiling. Then, he turned to go. Bucky watched him for a moment, and felt a little lost. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, like something left undone.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, and raced to catch up to Steve. He grabbed his friend’s hand and there, in full view of anyone who happened to be watching, he kissed him.

When they broke apart, Steve’s lips were red and swollen, cheeks flushed in surprise.

“Giving you something to come back to,” Bucky told him, and grinned.

He didn’t see Steve again for five years.


	2. Contestants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that one took a lot longer than I expected. But here it is, and I'll hopefully have another chapter up in a couple days! Please enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Two winters after Steve left, America was left reeling from an attack. One of the countries overseas felt the need to cut off the head of the lion before it could enter the fight. They only succeeded in making it mad. All the countries that united under the banner “America” came together to fight, sending their best warriors, weapons, and supplies across the water. Bucky was far into his training as a knight by then, and stayed behind to finish it. He received no letters from Steve, nor did any rumors of the man reach the castle. At first, their friends waited with him, but as months passed, they began to realize what must have happened. One by one, they all stopped anticipating his return home until Bucky was the only one who believed that Steve yet lived.

A year after that, Bucky won his knighthood and his shield, and joined the war. He was attached to a unit of elite warriors and sorcerers, the Strategic Spells Division, that combated the worst of the enemy’s mages. It was a difficult and dangerous job, that left little time for things like wondering where Steve was. There was still no word on his friend.

That spring, an arrow took his mother in the side. The healers didn’t realize it was poisoned until it was too late. Bucky was recalled to the palace, where he and his father argued over the prince going into the fight without a Guardian. But Bucky was adamant. He would have no Guardian, unless it was Steve. Everyone told him Steve was dead. It had been three, nearly four years since he had left, and no one had heard anything about him. Bucky’s friends urged him to pick a Guardian, if not for himself, then for their peace of mind. He refused, and returned to the war alone. In the absence of a royal Guardian, it was now his job to lead the troops.

He didn’t remember the battle that took his arm, or any of the long and painful trip back to New York.The healers told him that was for the best. His soldiers said he jumped in front of a blast of battle-magic that had been aimed at one of his captains. The captain he rescued called him every manner of idiot, and then pledged his life to Bucky’s service forever after. His father wouldn’t go in the sickroom, not until a healer came and examined him. The man was a Master Healer, and a trained sorcerer as well. He created for the prince a metal arm that would respond exactly as his flesh one had. It was an almost perfect replacement. Bucky hated it. It reminded him of his stupidity. He took to wearing long sleeved shirts and gloves, even around the castle, and trained with his younger sister every day, trying to get back his old skill.

It was hard- the new arm weighed more than his real one, and the magic that connected it to him took some getting use to. It threw off his balance, and he had to re-learn how to make it move. Finally, two weeks after his other wounds had finally healed, Rebecka looked at him in disgust.

“You have to choose a Guardian,” she told him. “And you have to do it soon. Or else, if the war comes here, you’re not going to survive.”

It stung, hearing his own private thoughts from her. She’d been the only one to defend his decision to wait for Steve. He shook his head.

“No, Beck. You know I’m not gonna do that. I-”

“Damn it, James!” She only used his real name when she was upset, as now. “You know as well as I do that if he hasn’t come back by now, he’s not coming back. I thought maybe you’d do alright on your own, but that arm will take a year at least to get back up to where it was. We don’t have that long. I get my shield at Midwinter, and after that I have to go into the field, since right now you can’t. I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Fine,” he said stubbornly, “Then you be my Guardian. You can step down when Steve comes back.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You and I both know I can’t do that. No member of the royal family can.”

He did know that. It was a law that had been set down a few hundred years before, as a way to keep the royal family from inbreeding, since most Guardians also became the ruler’s lovers. The healers had noticed a marked increase in insanity and birth defects when siblings and close cousins shared the crown and their bed.

“Then l won’t do it. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it,” Bucky insisted. Becka sighed and raised her sword, coming at him in a swift attack. In seconds she had disarmed him and removed his shield, leaving him panting on the floor with her sword at his throat.

“My point,” she said coldly. “Steve is gone. You cannot keep your promise to a dead man. Do you choose a Guardian, or do I put you back in the infirmary and choose one for you?”

There was no argument to that. The announcement was made, though privately Bucky was determined not to choose anyone if Steve did not return.

 

Letters went out across America, and to the troops fighting across the ocean. Only the best were allowed to compete, and with the war on, many chose not to. Of those that arrived at the castle, only six really stood out to Bucky as having any sort of chance to win. None of them were Steve. Then, on the last day before the competition, a seventh serious competitor arrived.

He arrived unannounced, quietly slipping into the courtyard where the other contestants were gathered. He dropped a bag that seemed laughably small in comparison to his large size (at least 6 feet, all solid muscle,) and stood back in the shadows, observing. Bucky noticed his entrance, and for two seconds he allowed himself to hope that this time it would be Steve. But no, this man was too tall and too broad to be his friend, who, at eighteen, when he’d left, had been a head shorter than the prince, and so thin a light breeze could have blown him over. The only thing about this stranger that initially interested Bucky was the fact that he wore a mask. While the rules didn’t state that you had to show your face, none of the others disguised themselves. Whoever this man was, he didn’t want his identity known. That would change if he won, but until then he could stay anonymous. There was a tradition of unnamed fighters winning the Guardianship every so often. Bucky’s own mother had been one. Perhaps this man hoped to be another.

The prince made his way through the crowd of contestants- slowly, because they all wanted to stop and tell him how honored they were to have this chance, or how impressive their past accomplishments were. Eventually he parted the seas of warriors to find the stranger talking to his sister. Becka looked up when he arrived, and moved back a step to include him in their conversation.

“Brother! Hi! Come meet Nomad. He says he’s fresh from the army, fighting with the same unit you were with, until Ma died- the SSR. I was just about to get him to admit that he was the one that cleaned up that Hydra nest up north.”

“Nomad, huh? Good to meet you. I’m James Barnes.” Bucky extended a hand, which the stranger shook gently, as if he was afraid of breaking it. Maybe he was, he looked like he could crush a boulder with his bare hands. He stared at Bucky with blue eyes, large under the mask. It was a sort of half-mask, covering his face from the nose up, of a piece with the blue helmet that protected his head. The whole thing was the same color as his armor, the only decoration being a silver star on the chest-plate.

“B- ah, Your Highness. It’s an honor.” The stranger, Nomad, bowed.

“Thanks,” Bucky said, a wry half-smile twisting up the side of his face.

Becka hit him, hissing “ _Manners,_ Bucky.” Nomad laughed.

“Sorry,” Bucky rubbed his shoulder- her smacks hurt. “It’s just, I’ve had about two hundred people tell me how honored they are to fight in this damn competition today.”

“I understand,” Nomad told him. “Must be tiring, having to greet all these people.”

Becka snorted. “Only because he spent the morning hiding from them all. Chased him all over the castle, I did.”

“Hey!” Bucky protested, at the same time as Nomad asked “So where did you find him?”

“The laundry,” Becka said. “Hiding under a wash basin, like he used to do when he was a kid.”

“Me and- me and a friend used to get into trouble a lot. The wash-ladies let us hide out when the guards were sent to search for us,” Bucky explained. It still hurt to talk of Steve. Part of Bucky had been holding out hope that he’d come, no mater what everyone else said, but at this point, there was little hope left. He must be dead, that’s the only reason Bucky could think of that would keep Steve from returning. Unless he didn’t _want_ to return. That thought was almost as painful as thinking he was dead.

“I see.” Nomad was smiling. “It does seem a good place to hide.”

“Better than some,” Bucky replied. “Beck, go find the steward and tell him Nomad needs a room. Before you start telling any more of my secrets.”

Becka stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to Nomad. “Well, it was good meeting you. I look forward to seeing you fight.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Nomad bowed to her, and she left.

“Sisters,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Do you have any, Nomad?”

The stranger shook his head. “No, it was just me and my mother. After she died, I was on my own.”

“So you decided to go adventuring,” Bucky observed. His story sounded a lot like Steve’s.

Nomad shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So what made you decide to try out for Guardian?” Bucky was curious. He’d heard a lot of reasons already today- honor, money, fame, the chance to prove their skills. He wondered what Nomad’s was.

The man took some time to think before answering, glancing off over the assembled warriors with a far-away look in his eyes. “I guess… I’m keeping a promise to an old friend.” His voice was sad, making Bucky reluctant to ask about the friend. Somehow, he thought maybe whoever it was had died.

 

That night at dinner, Bucky sat at the high table with his father and sister, looking out over the heads of one hundred and fifty-two contestants. To his surprise, five of the initial six men he had recognized as the potential best sat together with Nomad. The sixth sat off on his own, save for a few times when he got up to talk to one or two of the others, a sleazy-looking bunch that Bucky didn’t like the look of at all.

“Well,” Pa said, as the servants delivered the food. “We’ve got a good turn-out. When I met your Ma, there were only sixty or so, and most of those went home the first day.”

“Most of these will too,” Becka said, eyeing the warriors. “I bet most wash out in the preliminary rounds. Once the actual competition gets going, I estimate about twenty will be left.”

Bucky shrugged, and pushed the food around on his plate. He didn’t feel like talking, or eating. He was feeling too guilty. He’d promised Steve he’d wait, but there was no waiting now. Tomorrow, the contest for his Guardian would start. By the end of the week, there would be a winner. If Bucky picked no one, they’d have the whole thing to do over again. He wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of it. And he understood, he _did_. With his arm the way it was, he’d need someone to protect him- they couldn’t risk losing the heir to the throne. He wished he was ten years old again, and could run off to the town and find Steve in his mother’s shop, where he’d look up and grin, letting Bucky drag him off for another adventure. But there were no more adventures for him for now- he was the prince, the heir, and it would be a long time before he regained his old skill in battle. Bucky flexed the metal hand under the table, grimacing at it’s slow response. His body was fighting the magic that made it work.

He looked up to find his sister watching him. She glanced significantly at where his good hand was placed against the seam of his shoulder, the place where metal met skin.

“It’s fighting you again, isn’t it?” she asked, speaking low so their father wouldn’t hear. Pa worried, even more so after the death of their mother. Neither wanted him to have cause to worry more.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll have to go to the healers tonight, get them to renew the spells. They said it’s normal- I don’t have magic, and my body doesn’t like other magic going into it. I’m going to have a hard time being healed for anything else for now on.”

Becka squeezed his good shoulder. “Well, let’s just get this contest over and done with, so you have someone to look after you when I go off to fight. I don’t want you needing healers for anything at all while I’m gone.”

“I don’t need ‘someone to look after me’!” Bucky growled. “I need Steve to come home!”

“Bucky…” Becka’s gaze was full of pity. Bucky had to look away. He didn’t want pity. Pity did no one any good, least of all him. Pity wouldn’t bring Steve back.

The arrival of the second course broke the tension between them. After that, Bucky concentrated on his food, ignoring any further attempts his sister made at conversation. Their father, always a quiet man, had even less to say after the death of his wife, and did not try to draw Bucky into speaking. The meal soon ended, and Bucky retreated to his rooms. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He would have given just about anything to skip it.

 

In the morning, all the contestants lined up in a field outside the palace, ready to begin preliminary testing. Bucky and his sister watched as their armsmaster, an indomitable woman named Peggy Carter, strode forward and began calling out instructions. Bucky liked Peggy, she had taught he and Steve some of the finer points of archery- and of spying. It wasn’t common knowledge- for good reason- but Peggy was also the kingdom’s spymaster. She had used her skills to teach both the prince and his best friend how to make a secret identity, how to infiltrate an enemy stronghold, and how to collect information. She wasn’t much older than Steve, but she had grown up in the world of intrigue, and had proved herself more than equal to her position.

Now, Peggy lived up to her reputation as the toughest officer in the Palace Guard. She snapped out commands with quick precision, demanding immediate obedience from her charges. The contestants tried to keep up, showing her the very basics of the warriors skills. Slowly at first, in ones and twos, and then faster as the day wore on, Peggy dismissed those that did not meet her standards.Others faltered and fell from the ranks on their own, unable to keep up to the armsmaster’s demands.

By the end of the day seventeen contestants remained. Of these seventeen, Bucky was particularly impressed with the skills shown by Nomad and a man named Johann Schmidt. They kept up with all of Peggy’s commands, exhibiting the grace and skill of well-trained warriors. Both had proven able to wield a range of weapons, though Becka noted that Nomad seemed to use defensive techniques and non-killing attacks far more than Schmidt. Bucky pointed out that if that was a flaw, then so too was the fact that Schmidt seemed all too happy to cause pain and injury to his foes. In several training fights, Schmidt had hurt his opponent to the point that the man or woman was unable to continue. Nomad stopped short of causing actual harm if he could help it, preferring a knockout blow with the round shield he carried. None of his opponents had to drop out due to injury, and many of the others started to group around him off the field. The masked stranger seemed happy to talk to them, readily showing them the techniques he had used, and teaching a few of the younger contestants some of the moves they could have used to win the battle.

Schmidt, on the other hand, stayed aloof of the others, watching them all with contempt clear on his face. He obviously thought all the others were beneath him, and Bucky determined not to choose him, even if he won all three challenges. Watching him from afar, he seemed to be exactly the type that had always attempted to beat Steve up- and Bucky couldn’t abide bullies, not after years of protecting Steve from them.

 

That night, when Bucky entered the great hall for dinner, his sister stopped him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, frowning at him. Bucky shrugged.

“Going to dinner. What does it look like it?” He wasn’t in the mood for games tonight. He’d spent the afternoon reviewing the remaining contestants performance with Peggy, Pa, and Becka, and now he just wanted to eat in silence and go to bed. He missed Steve fiercely. Steve had always been a good judge of people, far better than anyone Bucky had ever known. If he’d been there, he’d have been able to tell Bucky who to pick. Of course, if he’d been there, there would be no need for this dog-and-pony show.

Becka looked significantly at the long table where all the warriors were standing, waiting for the king to take his seat. “Sit with them,” she told him. “You were complaining you didn’t know any of them. Here’s your chance.”

“Beck!” Bucky protested, “I’m up to socializing just now. Particularly not with a bunch of people who want to impress me with how strong and skillful they are.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “What are we doing all this for, then? You’re gonna have to pick one of them, you know.”

“I know.” Bucky glared right back. The servants, used to such ‘discussions’ between the siblings, walked around them to start serving the meal.

“Then what’s the hold-up?” Becka wanted to know. Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. She _knew_ what the hold-up was. His sister met his gaze, refusing to look away. Suddenly, Bucky’s temper, already frayed from a hot day in the sun, the pain from his arm, and the constant weight of regret in his heart, snapped.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” he whispered hotly, still in control enough to keep his voice low. “Maybe I don’t want to do this right now. Maybe I just want to get out of here and go up to my room.”

“Well,” Becka’s temper- equally frayed from putting up with his bad mood for the past month- also snapped. “I think I know what the problem is. And you need to stop being such a _child_ , James Barnes. Steve is _dead_. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. You don’t get to mope and make everyone miserable when we’re just trying to do what’s best for you. You can’t pick him, and even if he had come back you wouldn’t be able to pick him. He was weak and sickly, he would _never_ have survived the training to be a warrior, let alone your Guardian. And maybe it’s best he did die. He would never have wanted to see you like this. He wouldn’t love you like this, helpless and stupid.”

Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face at her words. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Aside from the time she had convinced him to have this damn contest, she had been gentle about Steve, allowing him to act as if Steve would come back when he heard the announcement. She was _wrong_. She was dead wrong. Steve was still alive. And he wouldn’t care if Bucky could defend himself, and he’d understand why he was acting the way he was.

For a moment, he couldn’t even think of a reply. Then it came to him. “Just because you’ve never loved anyone, doesn’t mean you can talk about me and Steve,” he hissed. “I’ll go sit with them, but only because I can’t be around you right now. And maybe I’ll tell Pa I need you here as an adviser, so he won’t take you with him when he goes to the front next month.”

Becka went red. He’d hit a sore spot- two, actually. Her last romance had ended with the man telling her she was incapable of loving anyone, a parting barb she still wept over when no one else was around. And she’d been looking forward to going to the war, sure that she would have the chance to prove herself as good a warrior as Bucky (or as good as he’d been, before he lost the arm.)

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said. Bucky made a rude gesture in her direction and entered the hall, walking quickly to the warriors’ table. He didn’t look up when she entered the room a few moments later, though guilt was already starting to eat at him for what he’d said. She’d been wrong. She had to be wrong.

There was a seat open next to Nomad. The stranger even ate with his mask on, Bucky noticed, but he smiled warmly when Bucky approached, and said nothing about his shaking hands or heavy breaths as the prince fought to reign in his temper. Instead, the man returned to the conversation he’d been having with the men across the table from him. They followed his example, leaving the prince to get himself under control before joining in. At last, when he’d managed to quiet the rage, he looked up to find Nomad drawing a map in some spilled beer on the table, the tip of his dagger creating roads and borders with practiced ease.

“So, here we were,” he was saying, “and here, across this river, was where the enemy was camped. They captured one of our sorcerers, one of Colonel Phillip’s best men, and he wanted him back. My mission was to get in and get the man out without being noticed, while everyone else caused a distraction. Unfortunately, the guy I had to get out was Howard Stark, and everyone who knows him knows the guy is a walking distraction all on his own.”

Bucky snorted, and Nomad turned to look at him. “Sorry, it’s just, Stark. That’s a really accurate description.”

“You know him?” Nomad asked, expression hard to read under that mask.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “I worked with him a couple years ago. Guy’s a genius, but he’s loud about it.”

Nomad laughed. “I suppose he has a right to be,” he said. “Dr. Erskine- he was another SSR sorcerer- he said Stark was the most magically gifted mind he’d ever met.”

“True enough,” Bucky admitted. “Anyway, what happened? You were going to rescue him?”

“Right,” Nomad turned back to the ‘map’ he’d drawn- it had dried up a little while they talked, but that didn’t seem to matter. The masked man dipped his dagger in his tankard, drawing more lines to embellish his story. “Well, I led my team over the river and we got into the camp well enough. Then the fireworks started- it seemed Stark hadn’t wanted to wait for his rescue. I never did find out what he blew up, but it was big. There were Hydra soldiers running everywhere, and we had a bit of a fight to get to the prison area. By the time we got there, half the place was in flames. And there was Stark, as calm as you please, sitting on top of one of their constructs- you know, the big golems that shoot fire from the arms. He waved at me and asked what had kept me. Phillips was _not_ happy. We could hear him yelling at Stark clear on the other side of the camp, once he’d got back from capturing the last of the enemy.”

Bucky winced. He’d only heard Colonel Phillips yell once, but it hadn’t been pretty. He remembered being convinced every enemy within ten miles would find the camp, his voice had been that loud. It looked like some of the other men at the table had had encounters with the colonel too, from the way several of them nodded or shook their heads in sympathy.

“So, Cap,” a big man with a bowler hat said, leaning forward, “how’d you get mixed up with Stark and the SSR?”

Nomad shrugged. “Dr. Erskine recruited me. Then he died, and things just kinda snowballed. I’ve been on the move for the better part of three years now, going where they send me.”

“Huh,” Bucky frowned. Three years… he’d been working for the SSR for some of that. Maybe he knew Nomad? “I worked with them a bit, before I started leading our armies,” he told the men. “It’s a wonder we didn’t meet up then.”

“The SSR is a big organization” Nomad pointed out. “They probably had us in different areas.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “They wouldn’t put me anywhere near the front lines. Trying to keep the prince safe or something like that. As if I wasn’t as good as any of them.”

“I heard you were in some large battles,” the masked man said, and Bucky shook his head.

“That was after I took command of the troops. While I was with the SSR, I was basically support. I only got to run two missions that took me anywhere near the enemy.”

“You’ll probably see more action once you have a Guardian,” Nomad said. He was trying to be reassuring, but his words just managed to make Bucky feel worse. If he hadn’t been so stupid to jump in front of a blast of magic, he wouldn’t _need_ a Guardian.

“Yeah, maybe,” he grumbled, not wanting to get into the limitations posed by his new arm, or the time it would take to re-train himself.

“You don’t think so?” Nomad asked, surprised.

“I think all this,” Bucky swept out his hands to indicate the large room and all the warriors, “is just so that my father can send someone else to lead the armies and keep me here at home.”

“Isn’t it so you have your Guardian, to protect you?” Nomad wanted to know.

Bucky snorted, giving the man a bitter laugh. “Sure. And part of protecting me is keeping me out of the fighting. As if I’m not a knight with my own shield.”

“You sound like you don’t want a Guardian,” the other man observed. He’d lowed his voice, and subconsciously, Bucky had also lowered his until their words were covered by the general noise in the hall. The other men had turned to other conversations, and a quick check told Bucky that none of them seemed to be listening in.

“I don’t,” he admitted, surprising himself. He’d intended to deny it, and yet, he’d told Nomad the truth.

“Why?” he asked Bucky. The prince could read concern in those blue-sky eyes, and something else he couldn’t name.

“Because I’m waiting for someone,” Bucky said. He couldn’t say why, but he felt like he could trust Nomad, like he’d known him forever. “And I promised him I wouldn’t take a Guardian until he came back.”

“Then why hold this at all?” Nomad wanted to know. “If you have already chosen, why this contest?”

“Because everyone says he’s dead,” Bucky told him, voice barely a whisper. “And… it’s necessary. I know it’s necessary.” Unconsciously, his hand had crept up to his bad shoulder, massaging the seam of it.

“You don’t believe he’s dead,” Nomad said, a statement of fact, not a question.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I don’t. I… some days, I know it’s not likely, not if he hasn’t come back by now. But… well, it sounds silly, since neither he or I are mages, but I think I’d know, if he died.”

“Then he’s not dead,” Nomad said, with certainty. “But if he comes back, what will you do?”

Bucky squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable. He knew admitting that he’d ask his Guardian to step down in favor of Steve was something he shouldn’t do, not if he wanted Nomad to do his best in the competition- and from his limited observation, Bucky decided that he did want Nomad to win, if he couldn’t have Steve. He seemed to be the best of the lot, the best fighter, and the best man. But Nomad just stared at him, until he sighed. “I guess…” he looked down at his hands. “I guess I’d have to ask whoever I pick to fight him, and the winner would be my Guardian.”

“And if this person you’re waiting for lost?” Nomad asked.

“I don’t think he will,” Bucky said. Even though he knew that Steve, as he’d last seen him, would have no chance of beating a man like Nomad in a fair fight, he didn’t doubt that when Steve returned, he would be the better warrior. He had promised, after all.

Nomad nodded. “I see. Seems fair enough.”

Bucky blinked in surprise, he hadn’t thought the man would accept that. When he’d recovered enough to get his voice back, he asked “So what about you? You got personal information out of me, so I should learn something from you. Fair’s fair.”

Nomad’s eyes widened, and suddenly he looked a little afraid. Bucky wondered if he thought the prince would order him to reveal his identity or something. But he wouldn’t. As much as it was tempting to do so, Bucky knew the rules of the Guardian contest- people could conceal their identity, and he couldn’t force them to reveal it until the very end.

“What do you want to know?” Nomad asked warily.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that? You moved around the field like water today, nothing could stand in your way.” Nomad’s fighting style wasn’t any he’d seen before, but rather a combination of all the styles of the western _and_ eastern lands. Neither he nor Becka had ever seen the like, and even Peggy had been unable to tell him it’s origin.

Nomad grinned, relieved, it seemed, that the question hadn’t been more personal. “All over, I guess. The army had me moving around a lot these past few years, and I just picked up bits and pieces wherever we went. I had to, to keep up with the enemy. They have some sort of sorcery on their hands that even Stark can’t match.”

Bucky nodded, grim. He’d heard that. “They say they might have a god fighting with them,” he said, hoping it wasn’t true.

Nomad shook his head. “No, I don’t think they have a god. We haven’t seen divine intervention in mortal wars for centuries, now’s an odd time for it start up again. No,” he sighed, “I think if anything, they managed to find something left over from the ancients, and turn it to their use.”

The prince hummed as he thought. That was a new idea, one he hadn’t considered before. “So,” he asked, “what do you think our chances are of beating them?” It had been a long time- since he’d left the front lines, in fact- that he could talk to someone knowledgeable about the war, someone who’d been there and knew what was going on.

“I think we have to,” Nomad said, after considering for a moment. “There isn’t really another option. The Red Skull- the head of Hydra- is a powerful sorcerer, in addition to being a strong warrior. If the enemy wins, he’ll take over, and he won’t stop until all of America is wiped out.”

“You’re right,” Bucky agreed. “And he’ll start with us, with New York. They say he has a special grudge against us.”

“That, ah,” Nomad looked down, and Bucky thought he saw a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “That may be my fault. He knows I’m from around here. He might want to make this personal.”

“You?” Bucky laughed. “I don’t think he’d make that much fuss over just one warrior. No offense.”

Nomad shrugged. “Well, I’ve done a lot with the SSR to bring him down. Remind me, and I’ll tell you about it some time. I’ve never seen his face- and I don’t think he’s ever seen mine- but if we ever end up in combat against one another, it won’t be pretty.”

Bucky shuddered, not liking the image. For some reason, his brain presented Nomad with Steve’s face, fighting a man that looked like a devil. He hoped that, wherever Steve was, he wasn’t getting himself into danger like that.

The conversation moved on to other topics after that, and Bucky found himself warming to the man. He was easy to be around, he didn’t seem to judge anyone, and there was something about him that spoke of kindness and honor. Almost against his will, the prince realized he liked Nomad, maybe even enough to not object if he were to win the contest. It felt like betraying Steve, but, surely, Steve would want him to like his Guardian, even if it wasn’t Steve.

Bucky passed much of the evening with Nomad and his friends among the contestants. Somehow, the others had learned he held a captain’s rank in the army, and insisted on calling him ‘Captain’ or ‘Cap’ instead of Nomad. They were a good group, and Bucky considered inviting them to join the Palace Guard, the ones that didn’t win the competition. He enjoyed their company, and went to bed feeling significantly better than he had that afternoon.

Passing Becka’s room, on the way to his own chambers, he noticed her door was open and the light was on. He paused outside the door, considering apologizing for his harsh words, then turned away. He didn’t want another argument that night. He was halfway down the hall when he heard her call out.

“Bucky?” She sounded hesitant, unsure. The prince turned, and saw his sister standing in her doorway, watching him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Going to yell at me some more?” Bucky asked, then instantly regretted it. She didn’t look like she was going to yell at him. No, in fact, she looked… sad.

“No,” she said softly, taking a few steps towards him. “No, I… I wanted to apologize. What I said, about Steve… that was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“He’s not dead,” Bucky insisted, instead of simply accepting the apology.

“I know,” Becka looked down, watching her feet instead of his face. “I know. And he loves you, we all knew that even when you two were just boys, running around down in the lower city. I should never have said that about him. I was just… angry, and frustrated. I want you to be safe, and more than that, I want you to be happy. I thought, maybe, if you could spend some time with the warriors, talk about something other than this blasted contest for a change, you’d feel better. You’ve been spending so much time with Pa and me that I’m worried you forget about the world outside of this castle. And you’ve never really been happy cooped up in here.” She sniffed, and rubbed at the corner of one of her eyes, as if wiping away a tear.

Bucky sighed and went back to her, taking her hands in his. “Ok. Ok, I forgive you. And I’m sorry for what _I_ said. I lost my temper.”

Becka laughed, though it wasn’t a very happy sound. “Look, I won’t push you to spend time with the contestants anymore. Three more days, and it’ll all be over.”

“Well,” Bucky hated to admit when she was right, but he didn’t like seeing his sister cry either. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. I like Nomad, and some of the others. It wasn’t so bad, sitting with them tonight, I guess.”

Becka smiled, even though her eyes were still leaking a few tears. “See, I do have good ideas now and then.”

“Hmm,” Bucky grinned. “Maybe I should tell Pa I need you here anyway, just for your good ideas.” This time, he was teasing her, and she knew it.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Becka pulled a hand free and hit him on the shoulder- the metal one, which clanged as one of her rings struck it. For some reason neither could understand, that struck them both as funny, and the ensuing giggle fit (though Bucky would never admit it- princes don’t _giggle_!) lasted a whole five minutes. They parted on good terms, and Bucky went to bed with a much lighter heart. He had a lot to think about, but suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so bad.

 

The man who called himself Nomad also had a lot to think about that night. In his small room, far below the prince’s chambers, he tossed and turned, recalling every bit of conversation that had passed between himself and his prince that night. There was something wrong, something he wasn’t telling, and Nomad needed to know what that was. He was also worried, there was something off about several of the other contestants, something he couldn’t quite name. Especially the one called Schmidt. Nomad didn’t like the way he looked at the prince. He didn’t like it at all.


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy writer's block, Batman! This chapter just seemed to take forever to get out. It was like banging my head against a brick wall for half of it. But it's out now, and hopefully the last three chapters will all go smoothly. (*knocks on wood*) Please enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!!

The day of the first challenge dawned bright and clear. Bucky, Becka, the king, and Peggy lined up in front of the seventeen remaining contestants in the great hall. For this part of the competition, Bucky wore what he thought of as his ‘official prince clothes’- an overcoat of deep royal blue trimmed in silver, over a crimson shirt and black pants. The red star that was his personal symbol was embroidered on the left shoulder of the coat, right over the one the sorcerers had placed on his fake arm. He also wore soft black leather gloves and matching boots, and the whole outfit was capped by his shining silver circlet with the deep blue stone positioned in the center of his forehead. The ensemble was as uncomfortable as only dress clothes can be, and the prince sorely missed his usual clothes, or even his heavy plate armor- at least armor didn’t itch!

At least Bucky was able to take some comfort in that his sister looked just as uncomfortable as him- she hated wearing dresses, said they limited her ability to move in a fight, and today she was in a bright blue construction that would have looked more in place at a ball than on the dusty practice courts. Of those gathered to test the contestants, only Peggy looked comfortable- as the armsmaster, she was allowed to wear her normal uniform.

Now Peggy strode forward to survey the contestants. “Alright, soldiers,” she said, “if you thought yesterday was hard, you should go home now, because today is going to be much harder. Yesterday you showed us your skills. Today you will test those skills- against each other.” The armsmaster paused as some exited muttering swept through the men lined up before her, then continued as if nothing had happened. “At the end of the day, less than half of you will remain. How well you do may well determine whether the prince will pick you or not three days from now.”

That was Bucky’s cue. He stepped up, unrolling a scroll with each contestant’s name written on it. “This is the order in which you will be competing. Today’s winner will have the advantage of going first in tomorrow’s test.” The prince handed the chart to a young guardsman, who was standing by to tack it onto the sign-board that had been erected for just that purpose. “You may choose your weapons,” he announced. “The rules are for a first-blood match. Backstabbing or illegal blows will instantly disqualify you from continuing on in the competition.” Bucky looked for Schmidt when he said this, certain that, of all the contestants, he would be the one most likely to break the rules of chivalry and deal an underhanded blow to win himself the match. The man watched with a passive face, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Next to him, Nomad nodded, mouth in a serious line.

Peggy nodded to Bucky, and took over the instruction. She went on to explain the rules in more detail- important only for those who had not grown up noble, and were unaware of the customs associated with duels. Then she dismissed the men, and gave them an hour to prepare. Bucky and Becka retreated to their seats in the stands, while their father stood and talked with Peggy for a time. Eventually, they both followed the prince and princess to their seats, and watched the men begin preparations.

“Lady Carter says the winner will either be Nomad or Schmidt, with Dugan or Falsworth taking third. She’s partial to Falsworth, but I think that might be because they’re from the same place,” the king reported.

Bucky shrugged. “Yup. Remind me why our armsmaster is from London, and not New York?” He liked Peggy, but he also liked to tease her about not being from New York, or even America.

“Because I’m the best,” Peggy assured him with a glare. “And I like Falsworth because he’s a good agent. I’ve worked with him before.”

“What’s your take on Nomad?” Becka asked, shooting a look at Bucky. “I think my brother favors him.”

Bucky hit his sister on the shoulder, and she retaliated by smacking him in return. They both were silenced by a glare from their father.

Peggy ignored them all, staring down towards the fence, where Nomad was standing with several other contestants.

“Nomad…” Peggy smiled. “I think he has a good chance. He is a brilliant fighter.”

“Somebody’s got a crush,” Becka stage-whispered with a giggle. Bucky smacked her again. For some reason, he disliked the idea of Peggy having interest in Nomad. Not that _he_ was interested in Nomad. Even after five years, he was still certain Steve was the only one for him. But there was a certain something about the stranger that was… intriguing.

“I beg your pardon?” Peggy looked at Becka with her impressively expressive eyes radiating annoyance. True to form, Becka just grinned.

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I imagine he’s pretty cute, under that helmet. I wonder if we can convince him to take it off?” she mused. “What do you think, Buck? I bet you 20 gold you can get him to get rid of it.”

“No deal,” Bucky shook his head. “You cheat.”

Becka drew in a breath and spoke with mock indignance. “I never! Bucky-”

“Enough,” their father ordered, and she sank back down into her seat with a shrug.

“I’ll have satisfaction from you on the practice courts, dear brother,” the princess muttered. “Just as soon as that arm of yours is up to snuff. I won’t have it said that I had unfair advantage to beat you.”

“You take unfair advantage all the time,” Bucky reminded her, then shut his mouth tightly as the king glared at them again.

They watched in silence for a while after that. Bucky tried to pay attention to every candidate on the field, but his eyes returned again and again to Nomad. The man stretched with methodical precision, warming up all his muscles and readying his body for the fight. It was a thing of beauty to watch. Today he wore leather armor dyed in a deep blue, cut so well it could have been a second skin. The view was particularly fine when he had his back towards the stands and bent over.

Finally, Peggy returned to the field to announce the first set of duels. Bucky watched as pair after pair squared off. In the first round Nomad faced a man Bucky hadn’t even thought to consider. The man was bested quickly by a well-timed blow from Nomad’s shield- the man carried a sword, but had yet to even draw it by the time he reached the final duel. Schmidt also won his first duel, along with the men who had sat with Nomad and Bucky at dinner the night before. Bucky was once again impressed with their skills, which far exceeded the other contestants- even those with far larger reputations. The fights were easy to predict, at least until the final battle. But even Peggy couldn’t say who would win that one- Schmidt or Nomad.

The pair faced off in the center of the field- Nomad holding his shield, Schmidt armed with a bastard of a greatsword- a two-handed monster that Bucky doubted most men could even lift, let alone wield. The dirt under their feet was trampled down from a morning’s worth of fights, a large bare circle of impacted earth that Bucky could remember falling on many times during his training. The field was silent, all eyes on the men in the center of the ring.

“Guard!” Peggy called, and they saluted each other with their weapons. The armsmaster backed out of the circle to stand beside the fence as Nomad and Schmidt circled each other. They were sizing each other up, looking for weaknesses. It was customary for the duelists to yell insults at each other as the battle began, but both Schmidt and Nomad remained silent, eyes locked on each other. They were both good warriors, and had learned to curb the normal fighter’s ‘tells’ that broadcast a movement before it was made. Both men were equal in strength and speed, and had the obvious benefit of years of training. This was a battle that would last for hours, or be over in seconds.

In the blink of an eye, they charged towards the center of the circle. Sparks flew as Schmidt’s sword met Nomad’s shield, and they broke away. Nomad rung out his arm, as if it had gone numb from the blow. Schmidt watched. Then he smiled, the sly and slightly unctuous smile of a corrupt politician.

“Captain,” he said, “surely that is not the best you can do. I have heard great things about you.”

“You shouldn’t trust what the bards say,” Nomad retorted, and Bucky wondered just what the bards had been saying about Nomad. Perhaps he should ask the court’s musician tonight.

“Yes, well, it seems they have over-exaggerated this time,” Schmidt said, still with that slimy smile. He hefted his sword, as if preparing for another attack. “I had thought that you and I were somewhat the same. I am disappointed to see it is not so.”

Nomad raised his shield. “I wouldn’t want to be like you,” he told Schmidt with a slight smile of his own. “You’ve spent so long fighting you’ve forgotten what it is to be human.”

Schmidt laughed, and attacked. Again Nomad blocked him, sliding out from under the massive blade and pulling back to circle around his opponent once again. Then he moved in, smooth as butter, aiming a punch at Schmidt’s unprotected side. The man jumped back, and was forced to continue backing away as Nomad continued his onslaught. Then his sword went up, and Nomad’s shield went flying. Bucky gasped, the sound escaping before he could stop himself, but no one noticed. All eyes were fixed on Schmidt’s blade as it came down on the unarmed man.

Nomad rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being skewered, and hooked a leg around Schmidt’s, pulling his feet out from under him. Schmidt hit the dirt with a thud, his heavy armor clanking as he fell. Nomad stood, movements as fluid as water, his own lighter armor an advantage while Schmidt tried to right himself. He kicked Schmidt’s sword from his hand and planted both knees on his opponent’s chest, one hand coming to rest on Schmidt’s windpipe, the other hovering above his head.

“Yield,” he said, the word, while spoken softly, carried the weight of a command. Schmidt nodded, and Nomad stepped back, offering a hand to help the fallen man to stand.

“I’ll beat you yet,” Schmidt snarled, knocking away Nomad’s hand. Nomad shrugged and walked away, bowing to his audience before disappearing into the rooms where the other contestants were gathered to remove their armor. Schmidt glared at his retreating back, eyes then shifting to the sword in the dirt by his feet. Bucky started to rise, but Schmidt then glanced at the stands and seemed to change his mind, leaving the weapon where it lay and stalking off to clean up. While Peggy read out the results, they stood on opposite sides of the room. She said later that she could feel the hate radiating from Schmidt as he glared at Nomad.

That night only seven contestants remained. Nomad had won, with Schmidt taking second. Dugan had come in third, defeating Falsworth in their battle. Also remaining were three others who had showed promise the previous day. A man who seemed to speak only French, but was an excellent fighter, particularly with exploding weapons; his interpreter, an eternally cheerful young man named Gabe Jones, who Bucky thought might have been from the lower city- it showed in his accent; and a silent and serious man called Jim Morita, who watched everything with a calmly assessing gaze. The men shared one table that night, and Bucky sat with them again. This time he was between Falsworth and Jones, across the table from Nomad. Schmidt took the farthest corner of the table, leaving a good amount of space between him and the other warriors.

Nobody seemed to mind. The group was boisterous, full of good spirits after a successfully passing the first test. They joked with Bucky, trying to pry knowledge of tomorrow’s test from him, but the prince refused to say. Eventually they got tired of that and moved on to other topics. Bucky sat and listened as they recounted some of the more serious battles they had been in, enthralled and horrified in turn by the pictures they painted. When asked to provide his own stories, he spoke of exploits with the SSR. The only battle he wouldn’t talk of was the one that had taken his arm, but even talking about the other battles brought the memory up to the surface. He found his hand going up to the seam of his shoulder, and Nomad’s eyes tracking the gesture, a question on his face. Bucky shook his head. It wasn’t a tale he wanted to tell.

After dinner, Bucky met with Becka, Pa, and Peggy to go over the day’s results. Not that there was much to go over, it was fairly clear who the best fighters were.

“So it looks like we’re choosing between Nomad and Schmidt,” Pa said, looking at the information they had gathered on each contestant. “It’s clear they are the strongest by far.”

“Strength isn’t everything,” Becka protested. “And Morita was poetry in motion with those daggers of his. He had far more technical skill than Schmidt, who just waved that great massive sword around.”

“Nomad seems fairly skilled with that shield of his,” Bucky pointed out. “Did you see him take down that giant in the first round? His shield was flying so fast I almost didn’t see it.”

Becka frowned at him. “Yeah, but we haven’t seen him use an offensive weapon yet. He’s got that pretty blade, but we’ve yet to see him draw it.”

“He can use a sword,” Peggy told them. “Or are you forgetting yesterday’s tests already?”

“Oh,” Becka looked down, then laughed at herself. “Guess I did. Still. What kind of warrior relies on a shield when he’s got a perfectly good sword right there?”

“That shield was almost as good as a sword,” Bucky said. “He can use it both defensively and _offensively._ Second round, he knocked out his opponent before the guy’d even drawn his sword. I’ve never seen a guy that big move that fast.”

Becka shrugged. “He seems to have had some training, at least with non-lethal blows. Whether that demonstrates an unwillingness to kill, or simply restraint in a first-blood match, has yet to be seen.”

Bucky frowned at her. “Ma didn’t like killing either, but she knew when it was necessary to protect us.” He avoided looking at his father’s face, knowing how much pain any mention of his mother brought the king.

“Be that as it may,” Peggy broke in with a glare at the siblings, “we do not yet know enough about Nomad to determine whether he could be an effective guardian. He has shown his fighting skills, that is true, but that is not all we must evaluate the candidates on.”

“So who do you think we should be considering?” Bucky asked her, eager to hear her opinion.

The armsmaster stared at the papers in her hands- all the statistics she had on the current candidates. She shifted through them until she laid two nearly blank sheets on the table. They carried the names of two candidates and their scores from the first and second days of the trails. Where normally each sheet would then have personal and background information, these two pages were blank.

“I admit that Nomad and Schmidt have the best scores of all the fighters. Nomad is slightly ahead at the moment, because of his victory today, however that lead is only marginal when considered with the skills both have shown. Indeed, their scores are far better than any of the other candidates, or, indeed, any past candidates whose scores we still have. Normally, I would say that at this point including the others would be merely a formality, and the clear choice would be one of these two.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Bucky said, watching Peggy’s face. She appeared troubled.

“Yes,” she tapped the paper on the table. “I am hesitant to give my whole recommendation to either of these men, when we can find nothing at all about their backgrounds. Their strength, in particular, seems almost super-humanly strong, which argues for magical augmentation. While that in and of itself is not a bad thing, the fact that we do not know how it came about gives me pause. I have heard of only one sorcerer who was researching magical enhancements of warriors, and he is dead. If there are others, we should worry about their agenda. Why would they want to allow a man they poured their magic into answer to someone else? Mages and sorcerers are known for being possessive of their experiments, especially the human ones.”

“Your agents have found nothing?” Pa asked, surprised. As a spy, Peggy and her agents were the best any country in America had to offer.

“Nothing,” she shook her head, frustrated. “Nomad I can trace back to the front lines, where a man matching his skill and description has been seen working for the SSR. However, the information ends there. There are all sorts of rumors about the man, who goes by the code name Captain America. Even his associates don’t know his real name, or where he came from. He simply appeared one day, vouched for by Howard Stark and some senior SSR officials. But he may as well have spring fully formed from Stark’s head, as much information as I can get on him from before. It’s as if he simply didn’t exist.

“Schmidt, on the other hand, has records somewhere. I just can’t get at them. His accent, however much he tries to hide it, marks him as German, but whether he is a refugee or spy, his records are sealed behind enemy lines and I can’t risk my informants just to get his information. I’m making inquiries, but even with mages it’s going to take more than three days to retrieve anything. All we know of him is that he came from one of the many refugee camps near the border, took a ship for America, and arrived in New York one week ago. It is possible Schmidt isn’t even his real name.”

“Great,” Bucky sighed. “So the two best candidates could be enemy spies, or assassins. Any surprises from the others?”

Peggy shook her head. “They’re all fairly straightforward. Dugan and Jones are from New York, grew up here, and joined the SSR once the war began. Falsworth was recruited into the British army and worked for them until granted leave to compete here. Dernier was in a prison camp with Jones, and stayed with him when they broke out. Morita is from Fresno, and joined a battalion of Nikkei soldiers- men who were born in America, but whose parents are from Japan. My agents can get information on these men dating back to their grandparents in most cases. I can find no evidence of subterfuge or ulterior motives in any of them.”

“They’re just not the best of our candidates,” Becka put in. “And the two who _are_ , have suspicious backgrounds. Gods. And here I was hoping this was gonna be easy.”

The meeting broke up soon after, leaving Bucky with a lot to think about. He just couldn’t believe Nomad was a spy, the guy just seemed too _honest_ for that sort of thing. Bucky liked him, and didn’t want to believe he could have secret motives for coming here. And why was he even worried about it anyway? He wasn’t going to pick anyone, or if he did it would be only temporary. He was still waiting on Steve. This whole thing was stupid, and useless. Once he’d trained with his new arm enough, he wouldn’t even need a Guardian. Fuck. This was just a whole stupid mess. And it was Steve’s fault, he couldn’t come back home when he was needed. Bucky would be having a good long talk with him about that, when he came back. If he came back.

Angrily, Bucky re-directed his thoughts, refusing to walk down that path. Head churning, he let his feet guide him to his favorite thinking spot- the top of the northeast tower. It was perfect, secluded, open to the wonderful night breeze that the tower was high enough to catch. Nobody ever came there but Bucky or Steve, who had often used it as a private place to draw. This time of night, the prince could look out and see the lights in the town below, or up at the stars, or out to sea- wherever his eyes wanted to wander as he thought. He could be alone to sort through his thoughts on the day. Except, when he lifted the trap door to let himself out, he found that the space was already occupied.

A large shape was curled up on the wall, back braced against the parapet. In the dim moonlight, Bucky could just make out Nomad’s helmet resting on the stone by the man’s feet. He was looking out, over the town below, unaware of the prince’s arrival. For a moment, Bucky paused to take in the way the silvery moonlight glowed in his blond hair, making it appear like he had a silvery halo. He’d replaced his armor with a light cotton shirt and breeches, which did nothing to hide his muscular figure. He looked beautiful, and untouchable, like a lonely god.

About to slip away unnoticed, Bucky stumbled, biting off a sharp curse as he stubbed his toe on the door. Nomad jumped, reaching out like lightning to grab his helmet and jam it back on his head. Bucky silently cursed himself again. Here had been his chance to see Nomad’s face, and he’d lost it before even realizing what he’d had.

Meanwhile, Nomad stood up, eyes focusing on Bucky. He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, your highness. I didn’t realize anyone else would come up here.”

Bucky shrugged. “Nobody does, normally. Just me, sometimes. It’s a nice spot to think, with nobody barging in demanding to know where I’ve gotten to or asking me to sign _this_ document or talk to _that_ noble.”

“Ah. Then I’m sorry I took your spot,” Nomad apologized again. “I’ll just-” he made to leave, but Bucky’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Nah, don’t go on my account,” he told him. “There’s more than enough room up here for both of us. If anything, I should be the one to let you alone. You’re the one that needs to relax the most- I just get to judge things tomorrow, you’re the one that’s gonna have to go out and actually do the challenge.”

The warrior smiled at him then, a grateful smile guaranteed to melt your heart. Steve had had a smile just like it, one he’d only ever shown when Bucky had done something truly remarkable. “Then- thanks. I appreciate it. The rooms you gave us are nice, but kind of noisy with everyone around. I’m used to spending a lot of time on my own, so I got to feeling a little trapped down there. Figured I’d come out here and clear my head a bit.”

Bucky laughed, settling into his accustomed place at the base of the wall. After a moment’s hesitation, Nomad joined him. “You know, that’s exactly what I was thinking, the first couple times I came out here. Steve- my friend, he found it back when we were kids. He’d drag me up here when being the prince was starting to get to me, sit me down and make me relax. Said it was that or watch me bite the head off of anybody who looked at me wrong.”

“Sounds like a sensible guy,” Nomad observed. Bucky shot him a look, only to see the warrior grinning at him.

“Asshole,” Bucky accused him, to which Nomad just laughed.

They sat in silence for a time, and Bucky tried to make his mind focus on the thoughts that had been gripping him since he’d left his father and sister after the meeting, but he couldn’t stop them wandering back to the man at his side. Nomad seemed content just to sit, big hands resting on his knees, staring up at the sky. Bucky desperately wanted to know more about him- a desire that surprised him with it’s strength. He had a feeling that he _knew_ this man. He just couldn’t figure out where from. At length he broke the silence.

“You were kinda quiet at dinner tonight. Now I find you up here. Something bothering you?”

Nomad shook his head. “No. Well, I don’t know.” He sighed. “Schmidt’s up to something. I just don’t know what.”

“How do you figure?” Bucky’s mind immediately jumped to his missing information, though a nagging little voice in the back of his head reminded him that Nomad, too, had no background information that Peggy or her agents could find.

“I caught him skulking around the armory this afternoon, looking at everyone’s weapons with a bit too much interest, if you take my meaning. When I asked him why he was there, he said he just liked weaponry, but I don’t know… I think he was lying. Plus, he’s never so much as spoken to most of us, even though we’re all in the same contest. And he keeps watching you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Watching me? Nomad, I’m the prince. If I thought everybody that watched me was up to something, I’d be up to my ears in plots. It’s my _job_ for people to watch me.”

“No,” Nomad protested, “that’s not what I mean. It’s not… not the good kind of watching, if you know what I mean. He looks at you like… ah, like a cat looks at a rat- like he’s hunting you.”

Bucky snorted, though a chill went down his spine at the words. “You’re imagining things, pal. He’s just a jerk looking to make a name for himself. Nobody’s hunting anybody here. Well, maybe Beck’s hunting a husband,” he joked, trying to change the topic. The current one made him too uncomfortable, and he couldn’t discuss it with this stranger. More than ever, he wished for Steve.

“Your sister? Nah,” Nomad said, allowing the topic to shift. “Though I wouldn’t put it past some of the noble ladies that came out to watch today.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky agreed. “And most of ‘em were looking at you. You’d better be careful, or you’ll have a whole bunch of them trying to rope you into marriage- and you not even a noble yourself!”

“Me?” the warrior sounded genuinely surprised. “Why?”

The prince laughed. “You can’t seriously not know. With _that_ body, I bet you’ve got camp followers hanging off you no matter where you go.”

“Wh- what? No!” It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Bucky thought Nomad was blushing.

“Oh yes,” he said, gleefully teasing the man. “Hell, I think half the contestants are in love with you. And the armsmaster couldn’t take her eyes off you once you put on that tight armor.”

“Bucky!” Nomad cried, and the prince wished for better light- he bet his face was beet red. So pleased was he with his taunt that it didn’t even register that Nomad had used his nickname, not his title.

“Mm, even my sister was admiring you. And she’s a hard one to please.”

“Oh no,” Nomad hid his face in his hands.

“Oh yes,” the prince continued, grinning. “She particularly enjoyed the view from behind.”

“Oh gods,” Nomad moaned. “Now I’m never gonna be able to look her in the eyes again.”

“No worries,” Bucky told him. “I’m sure she’ll be too busy looking at other parts of you anyway.”

Nomad buried his head in his arms, doing his best to disappear into the stones of the castle floor. His voice was soft, muffled, but Bucky still heard him clearly when he said “You’re a jerk, your highness.”

“Yep,” Bucky agreed cheerfully. “That’s what they tell me.”

A hand shot out to lightly shove at his shoulder, the way Steve used to when he teased him like this. Bucky wouldn’t have cared, but it hit his left shoulder- the metal one- and he wasn’t wearing anything but a thin shirt. Nomad’s hand made the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting metal. Nomad sat up.

“What-?” he asked, and Bucky thought he could make out a frown on his face. He grimaced and pulled the collar of his shirt down to show the place where metal became flesh.

“I lost the arm a few months ago. The healer-sorcerers cooked this thing up to replace it.”

“You… lost your _arm_?” Nomad asked, horrified.

“Yeah.” Now Bucky was glad for the low light, so he wouldn’t see the pity in Nomad’s gaze.

“I- gods. Bucky, I’m so sorry.” Nomad sounded upset, as if he’d just learned a close friend had lost an arm, not his prince. Bucky was touched, but it also pissed him off. He didn’t know Nomad, didn’t want his sorrow or pity.

“What’re you apologizing for?” he asked gruffly, the joy of only moments before completely gone. “It’s not like it’s your fault or anything.”

“How did it happen? No, wait, sorry, you don’t have to tell me,” Nomad retracted the question almost before he’d finished asking it. Bucky shrugged. It was the obvious question.

“I was stupid.” For a moment, Bucky considered leaving it at that, then relented. He’d have to tell somebody the whole story sometime. “After Ma died, I got stuck leading our armies. I wasn’t doing too bad, either. Then there was this big battle, lots of mages and sorcerers on both sides. We were right in the thick of it, people fighting on all sides. I was with one of my captains, and by that point we were both just trying to stay alive. I don’t remember what happened, but they tell me one of the sorcerers came at us, sending one of those nasty slicing spells towards the guy I was with. I saw it and pushed him out of the way, but the magic got my shoulder, took off my whole arm. Somehow, they got me back to camp and had the medics patch me up enough for the trip back, where Pa had our best healers waiting for me. They patched me up, then made me agree to hold this whole stupid contest to pick a Guardian for while I get myself back in shape.”

“Wow. That’s… I knew they sent you off to fight, but not even a rumor of you getting wounded made it out to the SSR. I’d just assumed they’d pulled you back in. I was surprised they’d let you fight anyway, being the heir and everything.” Nomad seemed shocked. Bucky gave him a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, well, they weren’t happy about it. I did some work with the SSR first, non-critical stuff, they kept me about as safe as anyone can be in war. Then Ma died, and _somebody_ had to lead the armies. Pa wasn’t happy, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Now they’ve got one of the generals out there, but Becka’ll be going to take the lead once she gets her shield. Somebody had the bright idea that the leader of our army had to be a knight, and part of the royal family. That rules out Pa- he never went for warrior training. Which is for the best, really. He couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.”

“What about your Guardian? Whoever wins this contest. Shouldn’t they…?” Nomad wanted to know.

“Nah,” Bucky told him. “First year at least, he has to stick with me all the time. After that, maybe. But maybe by then I’ll have my arm working well enough to go back out.”

“Working well enough? I thought- it looks like it works just fine. I never even thought-” the man broke off, unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to say. Bucky saved him the trouble.

“It wasn’t a real arm? Yeah, for every day stuff it works just fine. But fighting’s a whole different ballgame. It throws my balance off, and my reflexes don’t work so well anymore. It’s linked to my brain magically, but the whole thing ain’t perfect. Magic can only do so much.” He knew he sounded bitter, and didn’t care.

“May I?” Nomad gestured to the arm, and Bucky nodded permission. Nomad lifted it, feeling along the metal limb, moving it up and down before putting it back in the prince’s lap. “Yeah, I see. It’s too heavy. They couldn’t make it lighter?”

Bucky snorted. “Nope. I asked. The healer-sorcerer in charge told me this was the best they could do.”

“Hmm…” Nomad was thoughtful. “I think I know somebody who could do better.”

“Well, by all means, bring him here!” Bucky said. “I’d love to feel like I’m not dragging around an extra twenty pounds on my arm for the rest of my life.”

“I will,” the man promised him. “He won’t be able to resist a chance to show off.”

“Sounds like a swell guy,” Bucky observed. Nomad chuckled.

“That he is. One of the best men I know.” Bucky didn’t know much about Nomad, but he already knew enough to understand that that was high praise indeed.

Overhead, the bell tolled the midnight hour. Bucky sighed and pushed himself up off the stone. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but that bell means bedtime for me. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Nomad stood as well. “Yeah. Any idea what this next test is?” he asked, throwing Bucky a small smile.

“Not a chance, pal,” Bucky told him. “I like you, but that don’t mean you get a freebie. You already get to go first, that’s enough advantage for one day, don’t you think?” With that, he disappeared down the stairs. A few seconds later, he heard Nomad follow. When he reached his rooms, he spared a moment for regret that he was entering them alone. But that felt too much like a betrayal of Steve, so he shoved the thought away. Within moments, the prince fell into bed, and dreamed of his missing lover.


	4. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one took a lot longer than I wanted to get done. I was hoping to have this story finished by Halloween so that I wouldn't leave it hanging while I do non-fic stuff for NaNoWriMo. I may or may not still be able to get it done by the end of the weekend at least. If that's not the case, then the final two chapters may not be up until December. I'll do my best though. It just, if you've done NaNo, you know how crazy it gets. :)
> 
> Writers block afflicted this chapter as well, and I'm not entirely happy with it, but it is finally done. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for reading!

At eight in the morning on the third day of the contest, the contestants gathered in the great hall for the second challenge. Bucky joined them moments later, followed by Peggy, his sister, and his father. Once again, he had to wear his uncomfortable “official prince clothes.” Unlike the day before, however, there weren’t many courtiers watching. They would drift in later, once they’d had a chance to wake up, but there wouldn’t be much of a show today. The second challenge would primarily take place in the city outside the castle, while Bucky and the other judges waited in the great hall. It would be a boring morning for the royals. Peggy, at least, would be making a few trips down to the city to see how it went. Bucky had asked to go with her, but she deemed it too dangerous for the prince to leave the castle without an armed escort, and since he really didn’t want a lot of warriors around getting in the way of the contestants, Bucky had to agree to stay behind. Becka, too, was forced to remain, though her knight-master, the man teaching her about knighthood, was taking part in the challenge. She was too conspicuous to help, he had said.

When everyone was assembled, Peggy addressed the contestants. “Good morning,” she started. “And congratulations to all of you in getting this far in the competition. The seven of you have proven yourselves strong warriors indeed. However, more than strength or skill in battle is needed to become the prince’s Guardian. Today we test your intellect, your ability to solve problems as they arise, and your skill at interacting with the people of this kingdom. By the end of the day, three will remain. Of those three, the one who makes it back here first will be declared the winner. Your task is simple. We have hidden three objects within the city, and each object is guarded both physically and magically. If you fail in your attempt to secure one of these items, you may try to find the second or third, provided they still remain. As yesterday’s winner, Nomad gets one hour’s head start.”

At that point, Bucky strode forward, the court sorcerer at his side. “The three objects,” he said, “are symbols of this nation, created by the best smiths and artisans and usually kept in the palace vaults for occasions such as this. They are as follows: the Copper Torch, the Silver Eagle, and the Golden Apple.” As he spoke each name, the sorcerer produced an image of the object that hung in the air before her. The men murmured and commented to each other as each appeared, examining the three items they were supposed to search for.

“I also have three clues, to help you search. Each object has been hidden in a place of significance, hinted at by one of these clues. They are as follows: ‘What passes over must also pass under.’ ‘If you want to find the light, look for that which lights the way.’ And, ‘Even gold must bend to the passage of time.’” Bucky was particularly proud of these clues- he and Peggy had spent several hours working on them when designing this challenge. The men watched him as he read them, as if hoping for more hints, but that was all he or anyone else was allowed to give them.

Peggy smoothly moved up beside the prince, and continued the instruction. “Nomad, you have fifteen minutes to prepare, and then you will be allowed to leave. The others must remain for one hour after Nomad departs. Any who attempt to leave early will be disqualified. You have until the fifth hour after noon.” As she stepped back, the contestants broke into excited chatter, discussing the clues and their meanings. Nomad said little, a thoughtful look on his face. Schmidt did not speak at all, merely viewing the other contestants with scorn. Bucky couldn’t guess what either man was thinking, but he hoped that at the end of the day Nomad would remain, and Schmidt would be sent home. Nomad’s head start could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how he handled it- he got an extra hour of searching, but he would not have that hour to speculate on the clues with the other contestants.

Soon enough, Nomad was on his way out. The others spoke amongst themselves, or prepared as best they could for the day ahead. Bucky noticed Schmidt talking with some of the servants, and wondered at that- the man had not made moves to endear himself to anyone before. He saw the prince looking and smiled, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Becka noted the exchange and leaned against Bucky, whispering “he looks like the cat that got the cream.” Bucky hummed his agreement.

“Maybe he thinks he’s figured out my clues.”

Becka scoffed. “Thinks being the operative word. Those clues are _hard_.”

“I thought the clue for the torch was a bit too easy, myself,” Bucky told her. “’Look for that which lights the way’? That’s pretty obvious.”

“Could be a candle shop. Or a lantern somewhere,” his sister pointed out. Bucky shrugged. The contestants would figure it out, or they wouldn’t. It made no never-mind to him, though part of him did hope that Nomad would make it back first. Unfortunately, he was to be disappointed in that regard.

 

Nomad took his head start with mixed feelings. The extra hour was useful, but he still had no idea where to start looking. The clues sounded easy enough, but the more he thought about them, the more he saw that they could have any number of possible answers. Walking down the road into the city, he had time to ruminate over the challenge.

‘Look for that which lights the way’… the lighthouse in the harbor maybe? It was a place to start at least.

‘What passes over must also pass under?’ What was there to ‘pass under’ anyway? A bridge? The Brooklyn Bridge, the one that connected the city to the mainland where the river cut it off? Again, a place to start. Perhaps also one of the many tunnels that made up the Brooklyn sewer system, though he did not relish the thought of going down there.

‘Even gold must bend to the passage of time.’ Time seemed to be the operative word there. But what about it? Was the third object in the clockmaker’s shop? Nomad could look there, but there were so many places to hide things, inside the clocks and boxes of tools, it might take him all day.

So occupied with his thoughts was he, that he almost didn’t notice the wagon stopped in the middle of the road. He nearly ran right into it, before he became aware of the farmer cursing as he tried to get his wagon out of the mud. Nomad stopped to offer his help, and ended up spending a good half hour using his superior strength to free the wagon. It burned up his time, but he wasn’t about to just leave the poor man standing there.

Once the wagon was free, Nomad started back on his way. He was stopped no fewer than five times by others asking for his assistance, and before he knew it his hour’s head start had melted away, and he hadn’t even made it a mile into the city. Dum Dum passed him as he climbed a tree to get a kitten down, but really, he couldn’t just leave the poor thing there. The little girl who owned the cat was crying, and he’d known her ma when he’d lived in the city- she’d helped his own ma when she’d gotten sick.

Morita was the next one to pass him, on his way to the harbor. He shared that he thought maybe the torch was there, but he wasn’t certain. Nomad decided to try his luck with the bridge, which was more likely to yield up the eagle. He was stopped again on the way, breaking up four fights, stopping two separate instances of bullying, and intervening when an old lady almost got herself killed crossing the road in front of a mercenary on a big (and mean) horse. By the time he reached the bridge, Schmidt was already walking up from the riverbank beneath it, the eagle clutched triumphantly in his hands.

“I win, Captain,” the man said, and Nomad had never hated anyone in his life, but he really hated that voice. Schmidt was covered in scratches, with a few serious-looking wounds that still bled sluggishly, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was smiling, and something about his face didn’t look entirely natural, like it could come off at any second. His expression didn’t reach his eyes. Those burned with a kind of insane hatred that chilled Nomad. He met Schmidt’s eyes and held them. Schmidt was the first to look away.

“Don’t count on it,” Nomad told him. “You’re not getting _near_ Bucky.”

Schmidt’s eyes lit at that, and Nomad cursed himself for giving himself away so easily.

“So our young prince is important to you?” Schmidt asked. “I see. Very good, Captain. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the castle.”

Nomad let him go, there was little else he could do. No matter how much he wanted to challenge him right then and there, that wasn’t how this contest worked. The minute it was over though, Nomad was going to use everything in his power to be certain Schmidt never got within a mile of Bucky again. There was something wrong with that man, and he meant to find out what.

Just then, something groaned underneath the bridge. Nomad hurried down the bank, where he saw Becka’s knight-master lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Ser Merric! What happened?” Nomad asked, grabbing the man’s jacket from where it lay next to him and wadding it up to apply pressure on the massive wound across his abdomen.

“Bastard refused to answer the questions. Jumped me. I- agh!” the knight tried to sit up, and the pain overwhelmed him. He passed out. It was probably a blessing, the wound was a nasty one. Nomad shouted until the local guard came running, then let them take over. He had a task to finish.

 

Just as he was beginning to worry all three object had been found, the Guildhall clock chimed the half hour. Four-thirty. Nomad looked up, seeing again the old clock tower he and Bucky had played in as kids. Of course. The clock tower! Time! That had to be it, Bucky would have wanted the objects hidden in places that held significance to him, and some of their happiest memories were from days spend hidden among the gears of the giant clock. Nomad started for it at a run.

Up the stairs he climbed without pause, remembering days when he could barely make it to the next landing before having to pause for breath. Those days were well and truly behind him now, his quest to be Bucky’s Guardian had changed that and many other things about him. That was why he had to do this with the mask, and the fake identity- he needed to know he could do it, and not just because Bucky wanted him to. He needed to know he could win without any extra help, or favoritism, on his side- only then would he believe himself truly worthy of the post he so badly wanted. Even his so-called great deeds in the war only made him believe his own abilities so much- he’d only ever done what was necessary. That being said, the songs the bards had made about some of them… if Bucky ever learned just _who_ those songs were about, he would never, ever, live it down.

There was a man at the top of the stairs. He glared at Nomad as reached the final step, blocking access to the clock itself. Nomad recognized him. This man was rumored to be one of the best soldiers in New York’s army, one of the captains who had advised Bucky in his time running the army. Rumor had it, he was the one whose life Bucky had saved. Nomad remembered him from a childhood spent in and around the castle, one of the soldiers sometimes sent to retrieve the errant prince from wherever he was hiding. He’d always been a loyal guard, kind with young boys who didn’t understand _why_ they couldn’t run off to play on their own, but firm enough that once he caught them, they never got away again. Sure, Steve probably could have slipped off on his own, but then he’d have to leave Bucky, and that was one thing he would never do. He’d only ever gone away to make himself stronger, to make himself worthy of standing at Bucky’s side.

“Name?” the guard barked, and Nomad had to stop himself from jumping to attention- he had that kind of voice. Captain Verrel could probably out-shout Colonel Phillips.

“Nomad, sir,” he said. Verrel nodded.

“Come on up, son. You’ve made it this far, that shows you’ve got some smarts. Now we’ll see what kind of man you really are.”

“Yes, sir,” Nomad told him, taking that last step and standing next to the captain. It was so strange, to suddenly be taller than him. The last time Nomad had seen this man, he’d been a foot shorter and Captain Verrel had been yelling ‘Gods curse it boy, you can’t be a guard if you can’t keep your sword up!’

They stood underneath the grinding gears of the clock, the steady ticking a counterpoint to Nomad’s racing heartbeat. He’d made it here first! But now he had to pass whatever this part of the test was.

Verrel looked him over, eyes assessing, almost like a man inspecting a horse he was about to buy. “Good muscles, strong posture. Callused hands- you’ve been a swordsman a long time, for all you use that fancy shield more often. Steady gaze. Let me see your face, boy.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Nomad said, “that’s not a requirement of this test. The rules clearly state that I may keep my identity a secret until such time as the prince has made a choice. Only then, if I am chosen, will I be compelled to show my face and say who I am.”

Verrel laughed. “You’ve got spunk boy. Remind me of someone. Sure, that’s the rules, but the rules also say I get to determine if you pass this point or not.”

“Does everybody get questioned like this?” Nomad wanted to know.

Verrel nodded. “Sure, all three places have guards. If we don’t like your answers, we throw you out.”

“Schmidt attacked Ser Merric,” Nomad told him. “I guess Ser Merric didn’t like his answers.”

“Did he get the eagle?” Verrel asked. Nomad nodded, and he cursed. “That’s a damn shame. I’d’ve liked to see that bastard lose this round. Will Merric live?”

“I don’t know,” Nomad said truthfully. “The guards were with him when I left, calling for a medic.”

“Hell,” Verrel spat on the floor. “Well, what’s happened has happened. I can’t change it. And you boy, you’ve changed the topic. If you’re not gonna show me your face, at least tell me why. And I’d better believe you, or you ain’t getting any further into this clock.”

Nomad nodded, resisting the urge to bite his lip as he considered his words. At last he said, “I want to win without any special treatment. That’s not something I can guarantee, if everyone knows who I am.”

“You some kind of war hero? You’ve got the look,” the captain guessed. Nomad shook his head.

“Nah. Well, some people say so, but they’re wrong. It’s just… I’m from here.”

“So are a lot of people, lad,” Verrel scowled at him. “Give me a better reason.”

“Really!” Nomad protested. “I- I used to live at the castle. Bucky- the prince, he knows me. If he knew who I am, it might affect his judgment. I don’t want that. I need to know I can do this on my own terms.”

The captain narrowed his eyes, looking again at Nomad’s body, and the visible parts of his face. “Do I know you, boy?” he asked.

Nomad nodded. “You gave me my first lessons with a sword.” It was true enough, and Verrel trained quite a few boys. It would be quite a coincidence if he remembered the faces of them all, or if he could put the face on the sickly boy he had once trained to the strong man standing in front of him.

“I give all the boys at the palace their first lesson with a sword,” Verrel said. “That don’t make you special. But I remember you. Can’t quite place it, but I know you.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t tell you my real name.” Nomad might have felt bad, keeping the captain in the dark like that, but he’d make it up to him somehow, after the contest was over.

“No more should you,” Verrel told him. “If it’s being recognized you want to avoid. So you’re not gonna tell me your name. That’s fine. Tell me instead, what’s the most important thing a man can have?

That was a harder question, but Nomad thought he knew the answer. “Honor. Truth, justice, integrity, those are all bound into honor. If a man has no honor, he cannot be trusted. You can’t expect him to do what’s right, you can’t trust him at your back when it really counts.”

Verrel nodded, satisfied. “What does it mean to be a warrior?”

“It means I have the skill and strength to protect those who need it, to right the wrongs that need to be righted, to do that which needs to be done. And because I have those skills, I have a duty to use them.”

“Very good. You know a sword’s more than just a pointy stick you kill people with. I watched you come down from the castle, so I know you take chivalry seriously- you gave your help when it was asked of you, even though it slowed you down. Why’d you do that, boy? You might have gotten to that eagle before Merric got knifed.”

Nomad shrugged. “They needed help. I didn’t really know where to look, and it wasn’t like I couldn’t consider my options while I was doing what they needed.” He couldn’t read the captain’s face, but it was the only answer he had to give.

“What’s your take on the other candidates?”

Nomad thought about it. He’d only known them for a few days, but he had formed opinions of all six remaining opponents. “Most of them are okay. They’ve got their hearts in the right place, and they’re all good warriors. I would recommend hiring them into army, or even the prince’s personal guard after the contest is over.”

“All of them?” Verrel wanted to know.

“No, sir,” Nomad said. “Schmidt is dangerous, and unstable. I don’t trust him, especially not near B- near the prince. I’d be a lot more comfortable if he left New York once the contest is over.”

“Why’s that?” the captain asked, voice and face giving nothing of his own opinion away.

“He’s crazy,” Nomad said flatly. “I’ve seen his eyes, when we fought yesterday, and again after he attacked Ser Merric today. Those are not the eyes of a sane man. He likes fighting -killing- a little too much. And the way he watches Bucky, he’s up to no good.”

“Hmm…” Verrel stared at him long and hard. Nomad did not look away, though he became increasingly, uncomfortable under that stare. At length, the captain spoke. “I’m inclined to let you past, but I’ve got one more question for you first.”

“What?” Nomad asked.

“Why do you want to be the Guardian?”

Nomad had this answer ready. He’d known it for five years, longer. “There’s someone important to me, someone who means more than anything. I want to protect him, even if it means my own life. This is the only way I can do that.”

“Prince James.” Verrel didn’t ask. Nomad didn’t deny it- it would be pointless.

“One more question, if I may, then,” Verrel said. “It don’t count as part of the test, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

“Alright then,” Nomad told him, curious.

“What made you think to look in the clock tower? When the prince told me that clue, I thought for sure no one would come up here. Thought that was the point- he don’t want to pick a Guardian. If nobody got the apple, he’d have to start the whole test over. So when you came right up here, I was real surprised.”

“I…” Nomad considered his answer. What to say, without giving too much away? “It’s the word ‘time’, in the clue. Time’s the only part of that clue that seems significant. What tells time, but a clock?”

“So why the tower?” Verrel wanted to know. “Why not the clock maker?”

“I heard the prince spent time up here as a kid. He put the objects in places that were significant to him, I think. I mean, maybe. I could be wrong.” Nomad backtracked, hoping he hadn’t said too much. But he had.

The captain gave a tiny, satisfied nod. “I think I know who you are now, boy.”

“Sir-” Nomad began.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re secret’s safe with me. Though you and I are gonna have a good long talk after all this is over. If you are who I think you are, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Then…?” Nomad wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

Verrel stepped aside. “You’re free to pass. If you can get past the magic on the apple, it’s all yours.”

Nomad nodded to him, and moved to pass him. Verrel reached out and gripped his shoulder. Nomad turned, to see the old guard staring straight into his eyes. Then he clapped Nomad on the shoulder, and gave him a small smile.

“Good luck, boy,” he said. “I’m glad to see you back.

 

Past Captain Verrel, the clock tower was dark. Shadows that a young Steve and Bucky had once played in now seemed to grow, darker and deeper than he remembered them. The sound of the clock grew louder, surrounding Nomad with a steady beat. Overhead, gears groaned and clicked, going through the motions of counting the seconds. Nomad moved deeper into the inner workings of the clock, until the stairs were out of sight somewhere behind him.

Suddenly, up ahead, a gold glint caught his eyes. There was the apple, hanging in the air, held aloft by some invisible force. Nomad stopped below it, feeling the magic he couldn’t see all around him. He hated the feel of magic on him, it reminded him too much of Dr. Erskine’s experiments, of the final experiment, where he’d felt like the magic was going to rip him apart before it put him back together in this strange new body. Ever since then, he’d been able to tell when it was on him, though he couldn’t tell you what it was doing.

This magic was light, soft and cool against his skin. It didn’t feel invasive, just questioning. It didn’t probe deep, but evaluated what was on the surface. If this same magic had been on the eagle, Nomad guessed that Schmidt had grabbed it an ran. Nomad let the magic examine him, the same way he’d answered Verrel’s questions. Soon enough, he felt the magic leave, and the apple dropped into his hands. The clock called the hour, almost deafening him. Nomad took his prize and all but ran back to the castle.

 

Schmidt made it back first. Bucky didn’t growl, or punch something, or even frown. He was good, congratulating the man on his win, but there was something about Schmidt that made his skin crawl. Maybe it was just his conversation with Nomad the night before, but he felt like Schmidt stared at the throne Pa was sitting on for far too long, and the look on his face was something much like greed. He stayed up on the dais, too, even though it was more appropriate for the contestants to return to their seats after the prince had congratulated them.

The conversation Bucky had with Schmidt, while waiting for the other contestants to return, proved not at all enlightening. The man talked big, boasting about his achievements, how many people he had killed in battle, how little rest he needed between fights, and what he would do if he had an army under his command. While some of his strategies were sound, Bucky really didn’t like the way he talked, as if taking life was something to be proud of instead of. Sure, Bucky like to mention how good of an archer he was, or boast about his skills in a fight, but the actual taking of life? His kill count haunted him.

Fortunately, he was eventually saved from further conversation with Schmidt by the arrival of Dugan with the torch, supported by a breathless Morita. The bigger man was wounded, not from attempting to get the torch, it turned out, but by someone else, someone not part of the test who had attempted to take the torch from him. Morita and Falsworth had arrived in time to intervene, and the thief had fled. Bucky immediately dispatched guards to the city to look for him, and received the unwelcome news that Ser Merric, Becka’s knight-master, had been wounded guarding the eagle as well. Schmidt claimed no knowledge of the attack, but the way he said it made Bucky not quite believe him.

Jones and Dernier returned next, after the time limit had expired. Neither had the apple, nor had they seen Nomad. Bucky started to get a little worried, and by the time the clock chimed six had begun to think about sending out a search party. He didn’t mind if the apple wasn’t found, it would give him a reason to dissolve this competition and start over. But he liked Nomad, and hoped nothing bad had happened to him.

Just as he was having that thought, the door burst open and Nomad ran in, skidding to a halt before the throne. Clutched in his hands was the golden apple.

“You’re late,” the prince told him, attempting a frown. Nomad just grinned at him and offered the apple.

“If you hadn’t made the clues so hard, highness, I might have gotten back faster.”

“The point of the clues is to be hard. It’s a test,” Bucky pointed out, but let it slide. He put the apple carefully in the ornate box it was normally stored in, and a servant took it away.

“Well,” Pa said, standing, “It seems we have our three contestants for the final challenge. Tomorrow the three of you will enter the Chamber of Ordeal. Those who survive will be considered, and a Guardian will be chosen. To the others,” the king turned to look at the four men who had not brought in an object, “We thank you for your participation, and willingness to serve our great country.”

“If I may, sire,” Falsworth stepped forward, offering the king a low bow. “We would like permission to stay tomorrow and observe the final challenge.”

“In support of one of the candidates?” Pa asked. Falsworth looked at Nomad and Dugan, then shook his head.

“No, sire. We would simply like to witness the conclusion to this contest.”

“Bucky?” Pa asked, indicating that the prince was to decide.

“Sure,” Bucky told them. “I don’t see why not. Be in the Hall of Ordeal by the nine, but leave your weapons at the door. None are allowed in the Hall, or the chamber itself.”

“Thank you, highness,” Falsworth bowed to Bucky and stepped back. The other men looked pleased, all except Schmidt, who was scowling. Bucky decided he didn’t care what was bothering him, he’d already decided not to pick him. Even if he was the only one to survive the ordeal, which was unlikely. Almost always, all three who went in survived. However, some withdrew after. No reason was given, nor could it be demanded. Rarely had anyone died, though there was a history of the chamber driving very unsuitable candidates insane. Bucky had a feeling that Schmidt might be one of those. Whatever happened, they would see tomorrow. And then, it would be over. And Bucky would break his word to Steve and choose a Guardian without him.


	5. Ordeals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this story did turn out a far sight longer than I'd initially anticipated. But here we are, at the second to last chapter! I had intended for this one to go all the way to the actual announcement of Bucky's decision, but it felt like a more organic place to end the chapter where it did. So next week we get to see the exciting conclusion! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Also, bonus points to those who know where I borrowed the Chamber of Ordeal from!

The night before the final trial, Bucky couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was how he was letting Steve down, breaking his promise. He told himself that Steve would understand, that Bucky’s safety would be more important to him, that he’d believe in the necessity of choosing a Guardian when Bucky couldn’t adequately protect himself. But at the same time, the whole situation was Bucky’s own fault. If he hadn’t been stupid, hadn’t jumped in front of magic he’d known could kill him, he’d still have his arm. And if he still had his arm, there would be no need for this.

At last, around midnight, he decided to take a walk, hoping some air would clear his head enough for sleep. He went up to the wall and sat there, staring up at the sky. How many times had he and Steve done just this? What were the chance that, wherever he was, Steve was watching the sky too, and thinking of Bucky?

Footsteps announced the approach of another person. The prince turned and saw Nomad, also staring up at the sky. He was playing with a small object on a cord around his neck, which he quickly shoved back under his shirt when Bucky coughed to make his presence known.

“Ah, Bu-, your highness. I didn’t see you there.”

Bucky chuckled at his surprise, moving to stand next to the warrior. “Well, it’s not like you’d expect to find someone out here this late. What’re you doing up? Shouldn’t you be resting for the Ordeal tomorrow?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Nomad admitted. “Too much on my mind I guess. What about you? You need to be awake early as well.”

Bucky shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep either. Figured some air would clear my head.”

“What’s wrong?” Nomad asked, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky said quickly, not wanting to discuss Steve with this stranger.

“Hmm.” Nomad frowned at him, but left it alone. “What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“Dunno,” Bucky told him. “Nobody really knows what goes on inside the chamber. After, we see which of you it decided was worthy, and I chose from there. Or well, me and Pa and Beck and Peggy.”

“You don’t get the final say?” Nomad wanted to know.

“Well, I do, but I gotta see what everyone else has to say first. This is a pretty important position, we can’t give it to just anybody,” the prince explained.

“Are you worried?” Nomad asked.

Bucky shrugged. “A little, I guess. But what about you? You’re the one going into the chamber in a few hours. You’re from New York, you know as well as anybody the stories about it.”

“Sure I am. Nobody sane wouldn’t be,” the warrior said. “But, I can’t let that stop me, can I? If I want to do this, being scared doesn’t matter. I’ve fought worse things.” The last was said so bleakly, that Bucky decided not to ask what he meant. He had a feeling he probably didn’t want to know. “Well,” Nomad shook his head, then turned to Bucky with a smile. “At least this whole thing will be over tomorrow, one way or the other.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Nomad picked up on it. “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it? Is this about the person you’re waiting for?”

“No. Well, yes.” Bucky glared at the ground far below, avoiding Nomad’s eyes. “I’m breaking my promise. He’s not back, and I’m picking a Guardian tomorrow.”

“He understands,” Nomad told him. “You’re doing what you have to. You wouldn’t, if there was another option.”

“There is,” Bucky said. “I could just say no, refuse to choose.”

“And then what?”

“Well…” Bucky thought about it. “I wouldn’t have a Guardian.” It wasn’t that simple, and he knew it. He just wished it was.

Nomad leaned on the wall next to him, and the prince could feel his eyes on his face. “And what would happen if you were attacked? You said yourself, your arm isn’t working well enough for you to use it in a fight.”

“So I’d probably be killed.” Bucky knew that, he just hated accepting it. He wanted his arm working again, dammit!

“And if you die, that makes Becka the heir, right? And if something happens to her?”

“I… there isn’t anyone else. It would be civil war.” That was why he’d agreed to this whole thing in the first place. It was for the country. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Nomad nodded. “A war that we can’t afford right now, when all of America is working to end the war overseas before it reaches us. You’re doing your duty to your country. Your friend understands that.”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky muttered rebelliously.

“Yeah, well,” Nomad sighed. “I know enough about how people work. If he’s as a good a person as you say he is, he’ll understand.”

“Then why hasn’t he come back?” Bucky demanded. “Why isn’t he here now?”

Nomad didn’t answer for some time. Finally, he looked Bucky in the eyes and said “Maybe he wants to prove himself, first.”

“He doesn’t need to,” the prince objected. “He’s never needed to.”

“Maybe not to you, but to himself,” Nomad suggested. “Maybe he wanted to make America safe before coming back to you.”

“That ain’t his job,” Bucky grumbled. “He should’a stayed here, with me.”

“He just wanted to keep you safe.” Nomad sounded far more certain than he had a right to.

“But it’s _my_ job to keep _him_ safe!” Bucky knew he sounded petulant, but couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“And you’re doing it,” the warrior told him. “You’re doing what needs to be done to keep this kingdom together, so he has someplace to come home to.”

“Huh.” Bucky considered that. The idea hadn’t occurred to him before. “I guess that’s true.”

“And when he does come back, he’ll believe in himself, which will help him to win when he challenges whoever you pick tomorrow. He can still be your Guardian, even if he isn’t the one you choose right away.”

“Even if I choose you?” Bucky asked, before he could stop himself. Nomad laughed.

“Well, I’d like to say I could win any fight, but someone who’s fighting for the person he loves most, that I might not be able to stand against.”

Suddenly, Bucky felt a lot better. Talking to Nomad was almost as good as talking to Steve. “Thanks,” he said. Nomad smiled at him, a soft, affectionate smile.

“Any time, your highness. But now I should probably go get some rest for tomorrow. With your leave?” he turned to go.

Impulsively, Bucky reached out and grabbed his arm. Nomad glanced back, and Bucky let go. “Good luck tomorrow,” he told him, and Nomad nodded. Bucky went back to bed, and swiftly fell asleep. Hours later, his manservant woke him- it was time for the final challenge.

 

The three contestants lined up outside of the chamber, and drew straws to see who would go first. Dugan drew the short straw. Nomad drew the longest straw, and would go last. Bucky watched the door swing open under it’s own power, and Dugan walked inside. Bucky was not permitted to speak to the contestants until all three had exited the chamber, but instead had to wait impatiently for it to be over. He clenched his fists and watched the other people in the room. Few courtiers had risen this early, at least, not to come watch a closed door for hours on end. But a few soldiers were there- men who Bucky had noticed speaking with Nomad or Dugan before-, and all of the former contestants who had become particularly friendly with them. They sat together on the raised benches that had been put here long ago, when the tradition of the Guardian had begun. They didn’t appear worried, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Many of them had probably not heard the tales of the chamber. They would see.

Dugan’s Ordeal went quickly, taking only about an hour. He walked out of the chamber looking somewhat the worse for wear, and flashed a cocky grin to the spectators. When he passed Nomad on the way out, he squeezed the other man’s arm as if wishing him luck. Then he collapsed. Two medical sorcerers ran to his side and picked him up, bearing the unconscious man from the room. When they left, everyone could see the small pool of blood on the floor where he’d fallen. Another sorcerer hurried over to clean it up. Nomad looked as if he wished to go after Dugan, but he the rules prevented him from leaving until his own ordeal was over. Schmidt didn’t even watch as he was carried out, walking confidently in to the chamber and letting the door slam behind him.

Bucky watched Nomad standing alone in the contestant’s area. The man looked pale under his mask, staring at the door. Barely half an hour later, Schmidt walked out without a scratch on him. He stood in the door for one moment, and Bucky thought something was wrong with his face. But then Schmidt rubbed his face, and Bucky saw that he appeared fine. He must have imagined the red wounds at the corners of his eyes.

Schmidt smirked at Nomad, then walked over to the thrones where Bucky and his family were watching. There he bowed and took a seat on the bench below the thrones. Nomad stared at the door to the chamber, which was now open for him. He visibly took a deep breath, and walked inside.

 

The door closed behind him with a clang of finality. Nomad took another deep breath and let his eyes adjust to the dark. It was a small room, much smaller on the inside than it had looked from outside, and completely empty. A dull grey light was radiating from the stone floor, but it did little good- beyond the walls, there was nothing at all to see. Then he blinked, and suddenly he was back in Erskine’s lab, five-foot-nothing again and watching Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine parading down a line of recruits, praying that he would be the one chosen.

“Hodge,” Phillips called out, and one of his chief tormenters among the recruits stepped forward. Erskine nodded, and the rest of the recruits, including Nomad, were dismissed. He opened his mouth to call out, to remind Erskine that this wasn’t the way it had happened, before remembering that he wasn’t allowed to speak in the Chamber of Ordeal. Instead, he was forced to stand motionless- held by some unseen force- and watch as Hodge underwent the experiments. As Hodge took that final potion and became a superior version of himself. As the new super-soldier failed in his very first mission because he was too frightened to do the right thing. As the armies of Hydra poured onto American soil. As the red skull slaughtered Bucky’s family. As his greatest enemy stood towering over a fallen Bucky, and ran him through.

Nomad closed his eyes. _It’s not real. It’s not real._ He repeated to himself, over and over in his mind. It couldn’t possibly be real, because he was in the Chamber of Ordeal. But when he opened his eyes again, he was still in Erskine’s lab. This time, he could move. This time, Erskine stopped in front of him.

“Rogers,” he said, “It’s time.” Nomad nodded, and followed him to the strange apparatus that would transform him into something capable of protecting Bucky. He let the doctor hook him up to the wires, wincing as needles that hadn’t stung half as much the first time went into his arms. Then he took the potion Dr. Erskine gave him, and put it to his lips. In that instant, Bucky burst into the room.

“Steve!” he cried out, reaching for him. “Steve, don’t drink it!”

Nomad met his eyes, willing him to understand what he was doing. He was doing it for him, to keep him safe. All of this, all of what he would do as Captain America, in the end it was really for Bucky. There wasn’t another option. It had to be done, if he was to survive. Wasn’t that what the Chamber had just shown him? That if he didn’t do this, Bucky would die?

“No!” Bucky shouted, fighting his way past the assistant sorcerers that tried to hold him back. “Don’t do it!” His voice was full of real terror, a terror Nomad didn’t understand.

He drank the potion, gaze locked on Bucky’s face. Fire flooded his veins, burning him from the inside out, remaking him into something new. He clenched his jaw to keep from screaming, the way he had when it was really happening. It hurt a million times worse this time around, something he hadn’t even thought possible, but by sheer strength of will he kept from crying out. And the fire faded, leaving him standing alone in the Chamber of Ordeal, facing Bucky, who watched him with tears in his eyes.

“Steve,” he said quietly, “no.”

Nomad went to him, reaching out to put pull him close, only to see his hand pass through Bucky’s shoulder. Without seeming to notice, Bucky collapsed to his knees.

“Why, Steve?” Bucky demanded, eyes locked on a place behind Nomad. He turned, to see himself, still small, still strapped to Erskine’s machines, and undoubtedly dead. “Couldn’t you tell they were Hydra? That they were trying to kill you? Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Nomad reached for him again, and again his hands passed through him. All he wanted was to hold Bucky, to reassure him that he was still alive. But no matter what he tried, his body was insubstantial, as if made of mist. Bucky stood and went to the body in the machine, gently taking it down, carefully pulling the tubes and needles from it’s flesh, and using his own shirt to wipe the blood that leaked from it’s wounds. It was truly the worst thing in the world, worse than every battle he’d ever been in combined, to see Bucky in such pain and be unable to help. Only consistently reminding himself where he was kept Nomad from trying to speak. Instead he had no choice but to stand mutely as Bucky wept over his dead body.

Then a door opened somewhere behind him, and Becka entered the room. Accompanying her was Schmidt and Dugan. Bucky turned and stood when they appeared, red-rimmed eyes darting between the two men and his sister.

“It’s time, Buck,” Becka told him. “You’ve got to choose a Guardian now.”

 _Not Schmidt,_ Nomad thought, willing Bucky to hear it. _Not Schmidt_.

The prince sighed, and looked down at the limp body in his arms. “Fine,” he said, as if he didn’t care. “Schmidt.” Becka nodded, and led Dugan away. Schmidt smirked.

“Thank you, your highness,” he said, and there was that look in his eyes that Nomad had been worried about since the first, a kind of avarice mixed with anger that couldn’t possibly be sane. “You’ve made my work much easier.” His hand went to the hilt of his sword. Nomad tensed, throwing himself in front of Bucky as the ring of a sword being drawn sounded in the chamber. The blade passed through his insubstantial body, cleaving straight through Bucky’s shoulder, removing his arm from his body. Bucky screamed as his arm hit the ground, blood gushing from the wound.

Nomad shoved his fist into his mouth to keep from yelling, his other hand scrabbling at his waist for a sword he didn’t wear. He launched himself clumsily at Schmidt, and passed straight through him to stumble against the wall. Schmidt ignored him, or perhaps didn’t even see him, and walked over to where Bucky lay in a spreading pool of blood. Nomad attacked again, and again he went through his opponent. Schmidt spat on Bucky’s face, then turned disappeared. And this time, without an army of people that cared for him, Bucky was left to die.

Now, as he lay dying, he could see Nomad. “Steve,” he reached out with his remaining hand. Nomad got down on his knees next to Bucky and gripped it tightly in both of his. “You came back. I knew you would.”

Nomad nodded mutely, biting his tongue until it bled. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Bucky would never enter the Chamber during someone else’s ordeal- it just wasn’t possible. And even if he did, he would never pick Schmidt, he was a much better judge of character than that. Still, it _felt_ real. He could feel the life ebbing from his love, while he held his hand and cried. Soon, Bucky gave a kind of rattling gasp, and stopped breathing. He was gone.

Nomad badly wanted to swear, or scream and yell, but he couldn’t. The dim grey glow that was once again the only light reminded him of where he was. So this was the Chamber of Ordeal. It was nothing but a torture device. Anger rose up in him like a torrent, mingling with the pain he felt from what he’d just seen. With no other outlet, he turned and punched the wall, leaving no mark on the stone though the force of the blow was enough to shatter steel. It felt almost as if something in the chamber was laughing at him. And then someone laughed out loud behind him.

Nomad turned, and there was Bucky, leaning against the wall and laughing at him. “I thought you knew better than to try to damage the chamber,” he said. “Though I guess you have a right to. At least you’ve passed it. Schmidt didn’t, he went bananas right after you went in.”

Nomad frowned. He wasn’t supposed to speak in the Chamber. In fact, Bucky shouldn’t be speaking in here either. No one could, it wasn’t allowed.

“So,” Bucky continued, “I guess that means you’ve won. I was going to pick you anyway, but this seals it. Care to show me your face now?”

Nomad nodded. If he’d won, if Bucky really meant what he’d said and had been going to pick him anyway, it meant he’d proven himself. And if he’d proven himself, he could at long last reveal himself to his love. He reached up and undid the strap the held his helmet on his head, slowly removing the mask from his face. Bucky’s eyes went wide, first in shock, and then in horror.

“Steve…” he whispered. “What… what did you _do_ to yourself?” Nomad didn’t understand. He tried to take a step forward, towards Bucky, but the prince backed away from him.

“No,” he said, voice shaking, “Stay away. You’re not my Steve. I don’t know what you are, but you can’t be him.”

Nomad took another step, holding out an imploring hand, and something in Bucky’s eyes hardened. “You’re not Steve. Hydra killed him as I watched. Whatever you are, you’re not him.” He drew his sword. Nomad stopped and stared at it, not quite able to process what was happening. And in that moment, Bucky attacked.

He couldn’t fight back. Not really. Not if he didn’t want to hurt Bucky. So he was forced to try his best to defend himself while not even attempting to land a blow of his own. Soon, he was lacerated with cuts as a raging Bucky screamed at him for pretending to be something he wasn’t. It was his worst fear come to life. And he could do nothing to stop him. Somehow, Bucky kept going long after a normal man would have exhausted himself, dealing a punishing series of blows to Nomad that shredded his cloths and left him dripping blood from dozens of wounds. Nomad began to tire, and he knew that if he kept going he’d lose control over his strength, be too exhausted to judge his blows, and would really hurt his friend. He couldn’t keep this up. And then he knew what would have to happen, because Bucky wasn’t going to give in. He dropped his guard and stood in silence as Bucky charged him one last time and closed his eyes as the tip of the prince’s sword entered his chest.

 

“Well, no one’s died yet.” Becka leaned over and poked Bucky in the shoulder. “Remember Ma’s stories about her ordeal?”

“Don’t remind me,” Bucky told her, fists clenched in his lap. Becka looked at his hands, where the metal fingers were leaving indents in his palm, and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Bucky kept his gaze on the door of the chamber. “I- yeah. He’s a good guy.”

“You’ve picked him, then?” She kept her voice down, in case anyone else heard.

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I can’t stop thinking about how we don’t know his past. It’s… I like him, and if I can’t have Steve, I want him to win, but… what if he’s a foreign agent?”

“If you knew his background, though? Would you pick Nomad?” Becka wanted to know.

Before Bucky could answer, the Chamber door swung open, and Nomad stumbled out. The man was jamming his helmet back onto his head, though it was the only intact piece of clothing he had. His shirt and pants were in tatters, dotted with blood, and a worrying crimson stain spread across his chest. He looked to the stands, eyes bright and frantic until they landed on the thrones. Nomad took a shaky step forward and bowed. He’d survived. Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. And right then he made his choice. If he couldn’t have Steve, he knew who he wanted for his Guardian.


	6. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end of The Guardian. Thanks for sticking with me! I hope you've enjoyed this story! Thank you so very much to everyone who has commented and left kudos. Every one of you makes my day so much brighter!

The only thing that kept Bucky from going to check on his two injured Guardian contestants were the rules of the thing- after the Ordeal, he wasn’t allowed to see them until the official Choosing Ceremony that night. He didn’t exactly care for the rules, but Becka and Peggy kept a tight watch on him after Nomad was helped out of the hall by medical sorcerers. So instead he sat through yet another meeting with Pa, Peggy, and Becka, evaluating all the candidates yet again, and watching them argue over which one he should pick. After about five minutes, he tuned them out. After all, he had already picked. Getting their recommendations was just a formality. Instead, he worried. Nomad had looked ready to collapse when he stepped out of the chamber, and that blood stain… it worried him, even with the best medical wizards, sorcerers, and mages in the entire country located right in this castle. He worried about Dugan too, but in a less personal way. He’d only had a few conversations with the man, and while he’d known both for only a couple days, it felt like he’d known Nomad forever.

At last, after what seemed like hours, it was time for the Choosing. Nobles from all over the America had come to New York to see Bucky’s choice for Guardian, ready to engage in that complicated dance of politics Bucky hated so much. He planned to ignore them, but they were a pretty spectacle. Watching them stream into the Hall of Thrones was almost as good as watching a parade- Steve had once commented that it would take a whole cart full of paints to get all the colors in their clothes onto his canvas, and every one of them was as jewel-bright as the pretty little birds in the menagerie, the ones that Steve had been teaching to talk before he’d left.

“Smile,” Becka hissed at Bucky, jarring him from his thoughts. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve got your sad “I miss Steve” face on. You can’t let these people think you’re unhappy- you know the games they play. What happens tonight will cause ripples across the continent. If you look like you don’t like your choice, they’ll try and exploit that for a hold over us.”

The prince made a face at her, but she was right. He schooled his expression into something more pleasant, though all he wanted to do was scowl. He liked Nomad. He thought he might grow to like him a lot. But he wasn’t Steve. Steve wasn’t here, and tonight Bucky would be breaking his promise. Would Steve realize he’d had to do it? Or would he think that Bucky had forgotten about him? Either way, Bucky felt like he was betraying him. And the fact that he liked Nomad made it even worse.

Once the nobles and courtiers had taken their seats, Bucky and Becka entered, accompanied by their father and Peggy. The four, as the judges, would sit together on the dais. All were dressed in their very best. The clothes, more suited for sitting in court than dancing or fighting, restricted Bucky’s movements, the heavy cloak of the heir weighed him down and the tunic felt skin-tight- he could barely raise his arms above his head without fear of ripping the fine cloth. With his arm already less than efficient, it made Bucky feel vulnerable but he pasted a smile on his face and walked through the crowd with his head held high. He nodded towards those he knew, and gave a smile to the former contestants, grouped together at a table near the back, who had stayed to witness his Choosing. He’d already talked to Peggy and Pa about it, and they would all be receiving offers to serve in his personal guard once this whole thing was over. He hoped they’d accept, he had a feeling they would all work well with Nomad to do the job of keeping he and his family safe.

Last of all, the three final contestants entered. Schmidt came first, dressed in a fine suit of armor in red and black, something far more expensive than Bucky would have expected him to own. It threw another question into the man’s story, one Peggy was probably already trying to answer. He stopped before the throne and bowed low with a flourish, unsheathing his sword and laying it at the prince’s feet.

It was customary for the candidates to say something to convince the heir to choose them, and Schmidt did not disappoint. “Your Highness, I have defeated all your tests and proved myself the best warrior your kingdom has to offer. I am the clear choice for your Guardian.”

“You did pass my tests, but there are two others who have passed all three as well, Ser,” Bucky told him, voice perhaps icier than it should have been. He added the honorific in an attempt to diffuse the damage, but from the look on Schmidt’s face, he had failed. The man’s jaw clenched, and his eyes blazed with anger. Bucky saw Peggy, ever observant, signal the guards to be ready- when he wasn’t chosen, Schmidt looked like he might cause trouble. Schmidt opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky turned to Dugan, who had entered behind him, in a clear dismissal.

Dugan was still wearing his trademark hat, though he had also put on a fine set of armor. His was standard army-issue dress plate mail, rather than the fancy and expensive set Schmidt had on. His bow was abbreviated, and Bucky remembered that the medical wizards hadn’t been able to completely heal the wounds to his back and chest- the damage the Chamber had done had been extensive, which made it all the stranger that while Nomad and Dugan had both been hurt, Schmidt had walked out without a scratch.

“Your Highness, it has been an honor to compete to be your Guardian,” Dugan said, and Bucky was impressed with how genuine he seemed.

“You are an excellent fighter, Ser,” the prince told him. “It was a pleasure to watch you fight.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Dugan attempted another bow, and wobbled.

“Sit, Dugan, before you fall down,” Bucky commanded, and Dugan saluted.

“Aye, sir. Sitting.” He took his place next to Schmidt, in the chair the medical sorcerers had insisted was necessary. Then he leaned back, and turned to watch Nomad come forward.

Nomad was wearing the same suit of armor Bucky had seen him wear on the first day, deep blue plate with a silver star. He still wore his helmet, which was allowed now only until Bucky announced his choice. There was an insignia Bucky hadn’t noticed before etched into the armor, a captain’s emblem, over the marks for four complete years of service to the army. Bucky wondered what he’d done before the army, and decided he would have to ask. But it didn’t have to be now. After all, they would have years to get to know each other.

Nomad bowed, and even under the helmet Bucky could tell he looked a lot better than he had that morning, when he’d left a trail of blood from the chamber to the healer’s rooms. Unlike the other two, he did not say a word. He just watched the prince with those beautiful blue eyes. Bucky gave him a smile. He wasn’t Steve, but maybe he was the next best thing. Since Nomad wasn’t going to say anything, the prince decided he would.

“You fought pretty well here, Nomad. You’ve passed all three tests. You told Captain Verrel that you aim to prove yourself without special treatment, and I’d say you’ve done that and more. Will you now tell us your true name?”

Nomad shook his head. “Not yet, Your Highness. I will, and gladly, after you’ve chosen. But not until.”

That was the answer Bucky had been expecting, but it was worth a try. “Alright then. Take your place with the others, and we’ll begin.”

The next bit of the ceremony was long and boring. Peggy went over reports of all three candidate’s performances, telling those that had not seen the three tests the strength each had shown. Courtiers oohed and ahhed over the tales from the tournament, while Bucky watched the candidate’s reactions. Schmidt seemed the most pleased with himself, while Dugan just grinned and exchanged a few quiet words with Nomad from time to time. Nomad himself was unreadable under the mask, but Bucky thought he seemed a little embarrassed when his accomplishments were listed. When the second task was related, Nomad frowned at Schmidt, and Bucky remembered how no one had said how he had gotten the eagle, or how Ser Merric had been injured. If his suspicions were correct, Schmidt was one ruthless bastard.

Finally, after Peggy, Pa, and Becka had spoken about the contestants, it came time for Bucky to choose. He stood, forcing himself not to check, just one more time, to see if Steve was coming. The prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time. No getting out of it, and no going back. If he did this, it would be like admitting Steve wasn’t coming back. But he had to. He hoped, wherever Steve was, he would understand. Bucky found Nomad and met his gaze. He could get through this. He owed it to his country, and Steve would have been the first to tell him that was more important. Bucky walked forward to stand before the candidates and, there, in front of hundreds of people, prepared to break the most important promise he had ever made.

“I choose…” he hesitated, and Nomad smiled encouragingly at him. He could do this. “I choose Nomad.”

What happened next was so fast Bucky hardly had time to register it. There was the ring of a sword being drawn from a sheath, movement on his left, and then he was knocked back as the screams came from the assembled nobles. The prince looked up from where he had landed on his back to see Nomad standing over him, and hear the crash as Schmidt’s blade slammed into his blue armor.

“The hell?!” he exclaimed, scrabbling at his waist for a sword he didn’t wear. Had Schmidt just attacked him?

“Bucky, get back!” Nomad ordered, smashing Schmidt’s sword away with his shield. Peggy and Becka raced forward, grabbing Bucky by the shoulders and pulling him back behind a ring of guards. As they watched, Nomad pushed Schmidt down the stairs, backing him out into the center of the hall where frightened courtiers hurried to get out of their way. Guards streamed in, swords at the ready, but stayed a respectful distance away from the furious combat in the center of the room. Nobody wanted to get too close when Schmidt’s blade flew about in flashes of silver, sending sparks up from Nomad’s shield, and Nomad threw himself into the fight in a flurry of fists and feet.

Silence settled into the hall, the spectators holding their collective breath as a fight far more fierce than any they had witnessed in the competition raged. Nomad spun and kicked Schmidt, sending him stumbling into the wall, but Schmidt recovered and surged forward, his great two-handed sword raised high. Nomad ducked under his swing, coming up with his shield, again pushing Schmidt back, slamming him against the wall. Schmidt kicked out, forcing Nomad to gasp in pain as armor buckled around his chest, and slipped down, once again bringing up his sword. He charged forward, blade arcing towards Nomad, but Nomad knocked it aside with his shield.

“You will not hurt him!” Nomad growled, throwing his shield. It soared past Schmidt, who smirked.

“Won’t I? Neither you nor all the guards in this palace are a match for me.”

The shield hit the wall as he spoke and bounced back, cracking Schmidt in the head before Nomad reached up and plucked it from the air in a practiced motion. Schmidt reeled but stayed standing.

“A poor attempt, Captain. I had expected more from the great Captain America,” the man taunted.

Nomad ignored the taunt, instead asking “Why are you here? Why go through all this just to attack Bucky?” The two men circled each other, wary now of the other’s skills.

“Ideally, he would have chosen me as his Guardian. Then I could have brought down the power of America from the inside, but the Chamber showed me another way. A better way to get what I need.” Schmidt laughed, and there was nothing sane, or even human, in the sound. “Kill the prince, and my greatest enemy will fall at my feet in grief.”

“You’re crazy,” Nomad stated. “There’s no way that plan could ever work. He’s too well protected.”

“No man here is a match for me,” Schmidt boasted, and attacked once more.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Nomad caught his blade on his shield. “I am. And I won’t let you _near_ him.” The strain was evident in his voice, but he did not falter as Schmidt threw his full strength onto his blade, trying to push Nomad down.

“Why such devotion, Captain? Why such attachment to a normal man, when you and I are so much more?” Schmidt drew his sword back and then swung under Nomad’s shield, but Nomad spun away from the blow, coming back with a punch that sent Schmidt back a few steps.

“I am _nothing_ like you,” Nomad snarled, following up with another blow with the shield that broke Schmidt’s grasp on his sword, throwing it across the room. Schmidt roared, the sound of a wounded predator, and threw himself bodily against Nomad, knocking the shield away and latching onto his neck with both hands. Nomad struggled, kicking the knees out from under his attacker, but Schmidt dragged him down as he fell. On the ground the wrestled, each trying to gain the upper hand, and Bucky saw Schmidt’s face tearing in places like soggy paper, revealing something red underneath. Nomad’s hands scraped over it, pulling the skin away as he struggled, until everyone saw what was underneath- a human skull somehow turned a bloody crimson.

“The Red Skull,” Peggy murmured beside him. “He must have thought to take us out, paving the way for Hydra’s conquest of America.”

Schmidt- the Red Skull- roared again as Nomad heaved with all his strength and flipped them until Schmidt was on his back on the ground. Nomad’s hands wrapped around Schmidt’s arms, still trying to pry them from his neck. With a groan, he shoved his arms upward and Schmidt’s grip broke. He tried in vain to re-establish the choke-hold, but Nomad pushed him away. His fingers just caught on his helmet, tearing it lose even as Nomad shoved himself away, revealing blond hair and a profile Bucky knew better than even the face of his father or sister. The prince froze, letting out a gasp, and Nomad turned fully to look at him. It was Steve.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The sound of the helmet hitting the floor was the only sound in the room beside Steve and Schmidt’s harsh breathing. Steve. Nomad was Steve. He’d come back. He’d kept his promise after all. He was home.

So preoccupied with his shock was Bucky that he didn’t notice Schmidt reach his sword, or hear his roar as he charged the prince. He did see the horror on Steve’s face, and struggled to understand it before suddenly the Red Skull was blocking his view of his friend. Bucky’s hands flew up to protect himself from the sword that was crashing down on him, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to hold him off for long. His metal hand caught the blade and he struggled to keep it from his body. The Red Skull laughed, forcing Bucky down, and Bucky saw the knowledge of his death in the mad eyes of his enemy. Then Schmidt froze, expression still a mask of insane rage, and Bucky watched the light die in those eyes. The Red Skull fell to the floor, Steve’s blade protruding from his back.

Bucky stared at the dead man at his feet, then looked up to where Steve was standing, panting slightly from exertion, watching as blood slowly started to pool around the body. It was Steve alright. Even after five years, Bucky hadn’t forgotten a single detail of his love’s face. But there were… differences. The jaw was fuller, neck thicker, and it looked like his nose may have been broken once or twice. Not to mention the entirely new body. He was taller than Bucky now, broader and stronger too. It was as if someone had taken Steve’s head and simply transplanted it onto someone else’s body, but at the same time, he looked… like he’d always been meant to be this strong.

“Steve?” Bucky hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question, but it did. Steve raised his eyes to meet Bucky’s gaze, and he blushed. Bucky reached out a shaking hand, then pulled it back, a horrible thought occurring to him. “Is it really you?”

“Yeah, Buck. It’s me. I- I wanted to tell you earlier, but I needed to know that you would choose me without bias because of who I am. It wouldn’t have been fair otherwise.” Steve blushed, and he looked away. “And… I didn’t know if you would still want me. It’s been years…”

“Prove it,” Bucky demanded, suddenly terrified that this was all a trick. “Prove you’re Steve.”

Steve nodded. “I guess that’s fair.” He reached up, and Bucky felt the guards around him tense, but Steve only drew a thin cord out from under his armor. On it dangled Bucky’s ring. “You gave me this the day I left. For luck, you said.”

Bucky hadn’t told anyone about that, not even Becka. He swallowed, fighting tears. This was real. Steve was here. “You- you came back.” The words forced themselves from his mouth as the prince tried to process everything.

“I said I would,” Steve told him simply.

Bucky took two shaky steps forward, reaching out once again. His fingers brushed Steve’s face gently, then he pulled back, and punched him square in the jaw.

“Buck?” Steve’s eyes went wide and his hand went to his face, covering what would almost certainly become a bruise.

“You _bastard_!” Bucky yelled at him. “It’s been five years! You didn’t write, or even just send a message telling me you were alright!”

“Buck, I’m sorry,” Steve dropped his hand to extend both of them to Bucky imploringly. “I couldn’t tell you. The army wanted to keep me a secret from everybody. And then, when I was fighting Hydra, if they knew, you’d be in danger. I had to keep you safe.”

His words were reasonable, but Bucky didn’t want to hear it. Oh, later, he would hear the whole story, but right now he just didn’t care. “ _I thought you were dead_!” he screamed, and swung his fist again.

Steve caught it, and used his superior strength to pull Bucky close. The prince struggled for a moment, but that close he could smell him, breathe in that familiar, beloved scent, and it hit him. Steve was here. He was real. And the fight went out of him. He just wrapped his arms around Steve and sobbed. Steve was home.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve apologized again, one arm wrapped tightly around Bucky, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. “I’m sorry. I did what I had to, to protect you. Can you forgive me?”

Bucky pulled back, just a little, to look at him, and saw that Steve’s eyes too were wet. He watched Bucky with worry in his face, that same look he’d always given the prince when he’d been afraid Bucky was mad at him. Bucky smiled for him, even through his tears.

“Maybe. If you promise to stay with me from now on.”

Steve nodded. “I won’t ever leave you again,” he promised.

“Good,” Bucky leaned back in, closing the scant inches between their mouths. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.” And with that, heedless of their audience, he pressed their lips together in a kiss.

 

Bucky’s Choosing Ceremony- indeed, the whole contest for his Guardian- would remain the talk of the kingdom for many months to come. With the Red Skull gone, Hydra folded and the enemy powers lost the one good advantage they had. Becka would later complain that she’d only been able to lead the troops for only a few weeks before the war was over, and the world was once again at peace, but Bucky could hear the relief in her voice when she spoke of how glad she was that no more of their people would have to risk their lives.

Eventually, Bucky was able to draw the whole story out of Steve. How he found the mage Erskine, was chosen for his experiment, and received his new body courtesy of a potion that enhanced his strength and skills to the highest level anyone had yet seen. How Erskine had then been assassinated, and Steve avenged his murder, at the same time impressing the head of the SSR and earning his place as America’s secret weapon. How he’d spent years earning a name for himself as he took out Hydra base after Hydra base, until the Red Skull himself took an interest and began to actively try to kill him. How he’d heard about Bucky’s call for a Guardian, and wondered if his friend would still want him after all that time, and all the things he had done in the name of his country. How he’d come to the palace, barely hoping, and vowed to prove himself. Bucky called him an idiot, and a punk, and promised dire things if he ever tried anything like that again.

The men Steve had gotten to know during the contest stayed with them, and Bucky made them into his most trusted guard. Sometimes, he had to share them with Peggy and her spy operations, but since he never had to worry of a threat getting past Steve, he didn’t mind. Eventually, he and Steve would go with them on missions, once he was able to fight with his old skill.

The day after the Choosing, a young man showed up at the castle gates and asked for Steve. Bucky had initially been jealous, especially when he saw how friendly the man was with Steve, but his love had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he belonged to Bucky and Bucky alone. The man turned out to be Howard Stark, and he didn’t waste any time getting down to business. He examined Bucky’s arm, insulted the head sorcerer by calling it junk, and conjuring up a new one in a few days time. His creation worked exactly as Bucky’s real arm had, and it was balanced to weigh the same so it wouldn’t throw off his balance. Even better, Stark worked some magic when he attached the thing that made Bucky’s body accept it more readily than it had the first one. In no time at all, Bucky was able to trounce Becka on the practice fields once again, and even gave Steve a run for his money a couple times. (He would never admit it, but he thought maybe Steve went easy on him sometimes and let him win.)

In the years that followed, their story became legend. The tale of the daring young man who risked everything to be with the prince he loved. The bards made several versions, which Bucky loved to have them sing, along with all the Captain America ballads, if only to see Steve’s mortified blush. He even had them play at the wedding despite Steve’s protests. Steve got his revenge by inviting Captain Verrel to tell stories of Bucky’s early attempts at sword practice during the feast, and only laughed when Bucky threw a piece of cake at him. Becka then proceeded to embarrass them both by telling all the guests about some of the antics they had gotten up to as children. She claimed it was her duty as their sister to make their wedding day as memorable as possible.

In time, Bucky became king and ruled with Steve at his side. The bards tell many stories of their adventures, and there are many different versions in the world today. But there is one thing that is constant in all of them, and that is the overwhelming love between the two- a love that gives them the strength to conquer anything, so long as they are together.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "The Guardian" by WanderingAlice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443013) by [Lovesfic (me23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/me23/pseuds/Lovesfic)




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